Mercy Fielding, much more the quiet one than her sister, spoke up. “We did come home. We fixed them some supper. We went to the meeting.” Her eyes softened. “Not long after that, the three of us were baptized. That was just a year ago now.”
Nineteen-year-old Rebecca Steed was sitting next to her mother, across from Mercy and Mary Fielding. “That’s what makes this thing with Brother Pratt all the more troubling,” she said sadly.
John Taylor’s head came around sharply. “What thing is that?”
Rebecca was suddenly flustered. She thought they knew. Nathan jumped to her rescue. “You haven’t heard?” he asked.
Brother Taylor shook his head. “Heard what? I was told that Brother Pratt has learned we are here in Kirtland and has asked to see me, but we stopped at his house this afternoon and he wasn’t home. We plan to see him first thing in the morning.”
Nathan sighed. He and Parley had been good friends before the mission to Canada, but the experience there had created an even stronger bond between them. Having to report this pained him greatly. “Well,” he started slowly, “as you will learn soon enough, there are many problems right now in Kirtland.” Nathan took a quick breath. “Ever since the bank started having difficulties and all the accompanying financial problems began to spring up, a spirit of contention and apostasy has swept through the Church here. There is hardly a quorum that is not affected by it to one degree or another.”
John Taylor was nodding soberly. “I have heard that even some of the Quorum of the Twelve have become disaffected, that they are criticizing Joseph.”
Lydia shook her head sadly. “They aren’t just criticizing. Some are saying he is a fallen prophet and want him to step down.”
Leonora Taylor seemed shocked. Her husband was shaking his head.
Nathan’s voice slowed, “Sadly, I must report that since his return from his latest trip to Canada, Parley has been caught up in that same spirit.”
Joseph and Mary Fielding spoke almost as one. “No!” they exclaimed.
Mary Ann, always one to give people the benefit of the doubt, jumped in quickly. “I still think the death of Thankful has affected him deeply. And then, in his absence, there were some false accusations brought against him. Some of Joseph’s enemies have said that these accusations came from Joseph himself. That really hurt Parley.”
“But surely he didn’t believe them!” Mary Fielding cried.
Nathan shook his head slowly. “I have tried to speak with Parley since his return, but he is filled with bitterness. He feels that Joseph has tried to profit, at Parley’s expense, from some land sales they are working on. Also he claims that Joseph has turned some of the notes he holds on Parley’s indebtedness over to the banks, which will put more pressure on Parley financially. He has even written a letter severely censuring Brother Joseph and Sidney Rigdon for their actions in relation to the financial affairs of the kingdom.”
“I can’t believe it,” John Taylor breathed, the shock evident on his face. “Not Brother Parley. Not Brother Parley.”
Rebecca looked at him. “That’s what we said. But now a non-Mormon has taken that letter and is circulating it. The enemies of the Church are making much of the fact that Joseph is being condemned by one of his closest associates.”
“Parley claims the letter has been tampered with,” Mary Ann said, giving Benjamin a sharp look, disappointed that he had remained quiet through all of this. “He says it is a highly garbled version of what he actually wrote.”
John Taylor stood abruptly. He looked down at his wife and the Fieldings. “You stay here for a while.” He turned to Nathan. “Nathan, would you accompany me?”
Nathan stood, the surprise evident on his face. “Of course. Where are we going?”
“We’re going to go see Brother Parley.”
* * *
Parley Pratt looked drawn, haggard, exhausted. He was also quite defensive. There had been a brief, warm reunion between him and John Taylor, but almost immediately Taylor had begun to question him, and Parley bristled like a cornered badger.
“Don’t be too quick to judge, Brother John,” he said curtly. “You have not been in Kirtland long enough. You do not know all that has gone on.”
“Do you think I don’t know what is right?”
Parley drew a hand across his eyes. “Who knows what is right anymore?” he whispered.
“You know that Joseph is a prophet,” Nathan burst out.
“Is he?” Parley said, whirling on Nathan. “Is he? He prophesied that the Kirtland Safety Society would never fail. Now look at it.” There was a derisive explosion of air. “Look at us who believed in that prophecy and invested in the Society.”
“Did you ever hear Joseph make such a prophecy, Parley? Did you hear it from his own lips?”
“I . . . well, no, but others—”
Nathan cut him off, his voice tinged with a disgust of his own. “Those ‘others’ are men like Warren Parrish, Lyman Johnson, John Boynton. All of them filled with bitterness and hate toward Joseph. And no wonder. Joseph told me the other day he thinks that as much as twenty thousand dollars may have been embezzled from the bank.” Nathan made no effort to hide his contempt. “Warren Parrish is one of the chief officers. Are you going to believe that kind of man? All Joseph has ever said was that if we followed correct principles, the venture would succeed. His enemies are saying this other thing about the prophecy to discredit him.”
Parley opened his mouth to respond, then let it slowly close again. He turned to Brother Taylor. There was deep anguish in his eyes. “I deeply regret writing that letter. I do not know how it got into the hands of our enemies, but they have twisted it to their own purposes. I have never said that Joseph should be replaced or that God has rejected him. But he has made foolish mistakes. He has not acted in all ways in keeping with his high and holy calling. This disaster we are now facing, he should have foreseen it, warned us against it.”
Nathan threw up his hands. “He did, Parley. Over and over. He told us that if we didn’t put off this spirit of speculation and covetousness that has gripped us, we would see the results of our apostasy.”
Parley stood, moving away from them. He started to pace the room. His shoulders sagged and his head dropped as he did so. “I do not know what to believe anymore,” he said half to himself. “One part of me says that this situation must be corrected. Another part of me feels absolutely terrible about the feelings I’m harboring for Brother Joseph.”
Standing now too, John Taylor stepped in front of Parley, blocking his path. He reached out and took his friend by both shoulders, peering steadily into his eyes. “Parley, listen to me. I cannot tell you how much your words surprise and sadden me. Remember that night at Mr. Patrick’s house, the last one where you preached so powerfully? Mr. Patrick grew angry and said you could preach there no longer.”
“Yes.”
“You bore a strong testimony to the fact that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I heard you bear that testimony that night and many times afterwards, and was deeply touched by it. And that, more than anything else, convinced me the gospel was true.”
Parley finally looked up to meet Taylor’s gaze. “I know. Back then I was sure. I—”
John Taylor cut him off. “You also bore strong testimony to the truthfulness of the work Joseph Smith inaugurated. I heard you bear just such a testimony before you left Canada. You said you knew these things by revelation.”
Brother Taylor shook him gently. “You said you knew these things by the gift of the Holy Ghost, Parley.”
Parley’s shoulders straightened a little. “I did.”
“And you gave me a strict charge to the effect that though you or an angel from heaven was to declare anything else than that to me, I was not to believe it.”
Parley’s voice lifted a little with a touch of hope. “That’s right. I did say that.” Yet almost instantly his face fell again. “But that was then, Brother John. Things change. You don’t know all th
at has happened. My brother Orson has told me things. . . .” He shook his head.
“Your brother is being fed a pack of lies,” Nathan cut in sharply. “Warren Parrish is poisoning everyone’s mind.”
John Taylor still had one hand on Parley’s shoulder. “Now, Brother Parley,” he said with great solemnity, “it is not a man I am following, but the Lord Jesus Christ. The principles you taught me in Toronto led me to Him, and now I have the same powerful testimony that you then rejoiced in. If the work was true six months ago, it is true today. If Joseph Smith was then a prophet, he is now a prophet. You must not leave those feelings you once had, Parley. You must not!”
For a long moment Parley looked into the eyes of the man he had helped to convert. Then he looked away. “I don’t know what I feel anymore,” he said softly. “I just don’t know.”
* * *
Mary Fielding was what some people might have uncharitably called an “old maid.” She and her sister Mercy were both in their thirties and, as some would say it, past the “marrying age.” It had always been said of both sisters up till now, but Mercy was finally going to escape the dreaded title. Robert Thompson, who was another one of the converts resulting from Parley and Nathan’s mission to Upper Canada the previous year, had come to Kirtland also. He and Mercy were to be married the following week by the Prophet Joseph.
As they walked along, Rebecca Steed wondered if the thoughts of her sister’s marriage depressed Mary a little. There were no prospects of Mary’s changing her own single status that Rebecca could see, and as old as she was, the future could not hold a lot of promise. But almost instantly Rebecca decided that Mercy’s getting married would not likely make Mary unhappy. Mary seemed to accept what life had given her cheerfully and without regrets.
Rebecca had turned nineteen on the second of March, which meant that Mary was almost twice as old as she. But in spite of the age difference, the two of them had developed a closeness just since meeting each other the day before. Mary was more verbal than her sister Mercy, sometimes to the point of being quite forceful if she felt something strongly. Both sisters had a quick sense of humor; but Mary’s was more subtle, and that made hers also the more delightful, because it had a way of sneaking around behind a person, then jumping out at them. Rebecca could tell right away that Mary was an intelligent and thoughtful woman and that she was filled with a deep commitment to the gospel. She and Rebecca became fast friends literally overnight.
About an hour before sundown on the twenty-sixth of May, 1837, Mary Fielding accompanied Rebecca Steed to the home of Joseph Smith, Sr., and Lucy Mack Smith, the Prophet’s parents. As they came up the walk, Mary was quiet and quite reserved, something unusual for her. As Rebecca lifted her hand to knock on the door, Mary reached out and caught her hand.
“I don’t have to do anything?” she asked.
Rebecca smiled. “Just bow your head and sit quietly while Father Smith gives you the blessing.”
Mary bit her lip. Her hair was dark brown and straight. She wore it back, parted down the center, and pulled into a twist fastened with a silver clasp at the crown of her head. On someone else it might have looked severe, but on Mary it heightened the fineness of her features and the liveliness that played in her brown eyes. She was slight of figure and looked quite a bit younger than her nearly thirty-six years. “What if I’m not worthy?” she asked.
Rebecca looked grave. “Then the Lord will warn Father Smith. He’ll stop right in the middle of the blessing and give you a listing of all your sins.”
Mary’s mouth dropped open. She looked horrified. “Really?” she breathed.
Rebecca couldn’t hold it in. A giggle came bubbling up inside her. “Of course not, silly. I’m just teasing you.”
Mary looked so relieved, Rebecca laughed all the more merrily. “You are worthy,” she chided her new friend from Canada. “Besides, a patriarchal blessing is to help you. It will give you guidance for your life.”
Rebecca knocked firmly on the door. “It’s a wonderful thing when you think about it,” she went on, as she stepped back to wait. “Imagine, our own personal counsel from the Lord. I can hardly wait to see what he has to say to each of us.” In her mind she was remembering the thrilling experience she had had a little over a year ago, when she had attended a meeting and heard the patriarchal blessings that Father Smith gave Lydia and several others. Because she had not felt quite ready, Rebecca had not received hers on that occasion. But now she was sure the time had arrived to have the Patriarch to the Church lay his hands on her head.
There were footsteps and then the door opened. Lucy Mack Smith, Joseph’s mother, was standing there in a dress and apron. She was barely four foot eleven, and had to squint up at them into the last rays of the setting sun.
“Hello, Mother Smith,” Rebecca said. “We’re here for the blessing meeting.”
“Oh, come in. Father Smith is waiting in the next room.”
* * *
“My dear sister, Rebecca Steed, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power given to me as a patriarch in his church, I lay my hands on your head and give you this special blessing.”
Rebecca felt a great calm begin to settle inside her. She loved Father Smith’s voice. It was so deep and so resonant. And so dignified. He spoke very slowly so that the scribe could record the words with exactness. It was almost as if the Lord himself were speaking to her.
“You come through the lineage of Israel, even Jacob, the son of Isaac, who was the son of Abraham. You are of the tribe of Ephraim, which is of the house of Joseph. As a descendant of Abraham, you are entitled to all the privileges and blessings which were pronounced upon the heads of these great patriarchs of old. And just as Jacob gathered his sons and blessed them, so do I now bless you under the direction of the Lord.
“As a member of the house of Israel, you are privileged to come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. Be faithful and the time shall come that you shall be called up and crowned with glory and immortality and shall be privileged to live with your Savior and Master, Jesus Christ.
“You have been born of goodly parents, just as was Nephi of old. Stay close to them, follow their counsel, support them in their trials and they shall support you in yours.”
A great sense of affection swept through Rebecca as she thought of her mother and father. On more than one occasion in her daily prayers she had thanked God for the privilege of being born into her family. She also prayed for her father daily. She knew he was struggling, and it frightened her. With an effort, she forced her mind away from that and concentrated on Father Smith’s words.
“You have found the Church of Jesus Christ early in your life, and this is a blessing to you. Give of yourself to build up his kingdom on the earth and you shall lay up for yourself sheaves in heaven.”
He paused, and she could feel his hands shift slightly on her head. When he continued, his voice seemed to deepen even further. “The Lord is mindful of the sacrifice you have made in order to prepare yourself for marriage.”
Her eyes flew open in surprise. Many people knew that Arthur Wilkinson and she had broken off their relationship. But she had sworn her family to secrecy about her reasons for doing so. All she ever said was that it hadn’t worked out.
“You have made the right choice. Be not discouraged with the results. Be patient. Be trusting. In his own due time, the Lord shall reward you for your goodness. You will find a good man, a righteous elder, who will make you the queen of his home. When that time comes, and you must be patient until it comes, you shall know of a surety that the Lord has heard and answered your prayers, for he has heard the cries of your heart.”
Unbidden, tears had come to Rebecca’s eyes and were trickling down her cheeks. Off to her left, she heard someone sniffing. Mary Fielding, she thought. And that made her cry all the more, for Mary Fielding had no husband, and Mary Fielding was almost thirty-six, not nineteen.
“You shall have children, both boys and girls, and they s
hall become the jewels in your crown. They shall be a joy to you. I give you this blessing in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rebecca stood slowly, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. She turned to the white-haired man who had just removed his hands from her head. “Thank you, Father Smith,” she whispered.
He nodded, and took her hand in both of his. “That is a wonderful blessing, Sister Steed,” he said. “You must live for it so that every one of those promises becomes yours.”
“I will,” vowed Rebecca Steed. “I will.”
Chapter Twenty
I don’t like this, Father,” Nathan said gloomily as they approached the temple. “We shouldn’t be having a meeting without Joseph present.”
Benjamin gave his son a quick look, then looked away again. “I think they are having this meeting because Joseph is away.”
Nathan broke stride, looking at his father sharply. Benjamin saw the look of dismay but chose not to say anything.
“Is this another idea cooked up by Martin Harris and his little group?” Nathan did not try to disguise his contempt.
“Martin is not alone on this, Nathan, nor is he the leader.”
“Oh, I know,” Nathan shot back. “He’s got the likes of Warren Parrish goading him on.”
“And David Whitmer,” Benjamin said quietly. “Not to mention at least three members of the Quorum of the Twelve. Five, if you count Parley and Orson.”
“Parley is struggling right now,” Nathan said flatly, “but he’s not one of them.”
“That’s what you say. Others don’t believe it. And there is some question as to where Oliver Cowdery stands.”
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