Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Do you have a few moments I might talk with you?”

  It was nearly eight o’clock that night before Carl finally arrived home. He was welcomed joyously by his children and fed a warmed-over supper by his wife. It was almost nine-thirty by the time the children were asleep and they had time alone. When he came out of the bedrooms from putting the last one to bed, he asked the question he had been wondering about for three days. “Melissa, tell me about conference. Did anything unusual happen?”

  “Conference?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him an odd look. “Well, it was a wonderful conference. Joseph wasn’t there the first day. He had been ill, and with the weather he—”

  Carl cut that off. “Was anything said about John C. Bennett?”

  “Bennett?” She was surprised. “No, I—” Then she straightened. “Wait! Thursday afternoon Hyrum Smith got quite angry. It was shocking, in fact. Hyrum never gets angry. He is so kind and so gentle and so patient.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said there was a story going around about him and members of the Twelve.”

  Carl sat up straighter now. “Yes?”

  “Have you heard anything like that?” she asked.

  For a moment he wasn’t sure how to answer, but finally he nodded. “About how Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball and others locked one of the women in her room for several days and wouldn’t let her out until she agreed to being a dual wife?”

  Melissa was amazed. “You knew about that?”

  He sighed wearily. “Melissa, you wouldn’t believe all that I’ve heard.”

  “Hyrum said that this story was common gossip lately, but judging from the reaction of the congregation, including most of my family, many hadn’t heard it.”

  “Most of the family?” he repeated.

  “Yes, my father admitted that he had heard it, but he hadn’t even told Mama about it.”

  “And what did Hyrum say about this story?”

  “He said that it was nothing but lies, that there was no truth to it whatsoever.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” he murmured.

  “It’s about time what?”

  He shook his head. “Anything else?”

  “The moment he sat down, Joseph stood up. He went right on from where Hyrum left off and then he gave us a pretty good dressing-down for believing and conversing about such fantastic stories and rumors as that.”

  “But he publicly said the story was false?”

  “Yes, he did. Father says he’s going to say more at Sunday worship services.”

  Carl nodded absently. “What time will that be?”

  Her eyes were wide. “Ten o’clock. Do you want to go?”

  He seemed surprised. “But of course.”

  Chapter Notes

  Though a few details have been added for purposes of the novel, the story of Joseph’s counsel to Israel Barlow about a whip and what followed shortly thereafter is found in Barlow’s life history (see Ora Haven Barlow, The Israel Barlow Story and Mormon Mores [Salt Lake City: Ora H. Barlow, 1968], pp. 195–96).

  At the general conference in April 1842, Hyrum and Joseph did both speak in condemnation of the stories that were being spread around Nauvoo at the time (see HC 4:585–86).

  Chapter 22

  If the family was surprised to see Carl come out of the house with Melissa and the children on Sunday morning, none of them gave the slightest sign. Melissa glowed inwardly at that. It would only have embarrassed him, so they simply took it without comment. They were so good to him. So good for him.

  “How was Yelrome?” Benjamin asked.

  “Good. Father Morley said to give you his best regards. Especially to Nathan and Lydia.”

  Jennifer Jo leaned toward Matthew. “Why especially them?”

  “When they first moved to Kirtland, they lived out on the Morley farm. They know the Morleys very well.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hope Joseph is at the meeting this morning,” Derek spoke up. “He still didn’t look very well to me even yesterday.”

  “I hope so too,” Carl said, causing the rest of the family to give each other surprised looks.

  If Joseph was sick, he gave no sign of it. When Hyrum turned the pulpit over to him he strode up there with great decisiveness. His countenance was somber but he seemed filled with energy. He let his eyes sweep across the group gathered beneath the newly budding leaves in the branches overhead. This was his style, this looking at his audience, but usually his face held a smile and his eyes were filled with appreciation and affection for his people. Today his face was grave and his eyes piercing in their intensity.

  “Brothers and sisters, I have but a few remarks to make this day, but I shall be direct. The times demand it. I shall speak with the authority of the priesthood and in the name of the Lord God. My words shall prove to be the savor of life unto those who love life, or of death unto those who love death.”

  His voice was strong and filled with ringing power. He spoke effortlessly, yet his voice carried as clearly to the people at the very rear of the congregation as it did to those at his feet. Carl was fascinated. Melissa’s report of what Joseph and Hyrum had said at the conference had piqued his curiosity. He wanted to know if Joseph was going to say more on that theme. Now he had his answer.

  “Notwithstanding this congregation profess to be Saints, yet I stand here in the midst of all kinds of characters and classes of men.”

  John C. Bennett was sitting on the second row. Carl saw his head jerk up to stare at the Prophet, then drop as the scalding gaze swept across him. “I tell you in the name of the Lord, if you wish to go where God is, you must be like God. You must possess the principles which God possesses, for if we are not drawing towards God in principle, we are going from him and drawing towards the devil.”

  It was as if the words were smoking even as they came out of his mouth. The rest of the family would later say that he had the power of God on him. Carl didn’t choose to put it into words. He just felt the words slamming into the people around him, including some of those for whom they were precisely and specifically intended, and he exulted in it. This was what he had hoped for when he told Melissa he was going to the meeting.

  “Yes,” Joseph thundered, “I am standing in the midst of all kinds of people at this very moment. Search your hearts, and see if you are like God. I have searched mine, and feel to repent of all my sins.”

  He paused, not for breath, but to let them brace for his next words. “We have thieves among us. We who are supposed to be Saints have adulterers, liars, and hypocrites in our midst. If God should speak from heaven this very moment, he would command you not to steal. He would command you not to commit adultery, not to covet, nor deceive. He would say to you, my beloved brothers and sisters, be faithful over a few things and you will be rewarded in many things. Do you not understand that as far as we degenerate from God in this life, we descend to the devil and lose knowledge? And without knowledge we cannot be saved. When our hearts are filled with evil and we are studying evil, there is no room in our hearts for good, or for studying good.

  “Do you hear me?” His question rang through the grove like a trumpet call. “Do you understand what I am saying to you? Is not God good? Then you be good. Is not God faithful? Then you be faithful. Peter speaks of becoming partakers of the divine nature. And how do we do that? We add to our faith virtue, to our virtue knowledge, and we seek for every good thing. Every good thing. And we shun the evil.”

  He stopped again. There wasn’t a sound in the grove now. Even the birds which had been chirping steadily in the background seemed to have quieted. He looked around, his gaze sweeping like a great broom. Eyes were dropping everywhere, chins ducking down to avoid those blazing eyes that were filled with fire now.

  “I declare unto you this day in the name of the Lord that the Church must be cleansed. I proclaim against all iniquity. I pronounce a curse on adulterers. I pronounce a curse on fornicato
rs and every other unvirtuous person.” Now there was a coldness that caused a little shiver to run up and down Carl’s back. “I pronounce a curse on all of those who have made use of my name to carry on their iniquitous designs.”

  Melissa deliberately lagged behind the rest of the family. Carl was speaking to Benjamin about the land development and what they would do once Nathan returned. But when they finished, he dropped back to walk beside her.

  “Well,” she said quietly, “what did you think?”

  He didn’t have to ask her what she had reference to. “I think,” he said very slowly and very thoughtfully, “I think that today the swords were drawn. The battle has been joined. Now we shall see much more clearly where the opposing lines are placed.”

  Jessica Griffith lay flat on her back, letting the patchwork of sunshine and shade play across her face. Her daughter, Rachel, and her foster daughter, Kathryn McIntire, sat beside her. Out in the sunshine, in an open field thick with the lush grass of springtime, her three sons—actually, two stepsons and a son—romped with wild abandon. Luke, who was nine and a half now, and Mark, who was seven, were pretending to be frightened townspeople. Little John Benjamin, who had just turned four a month ago, was in one of his doggy stages. He was on all fours, barking and attempting to snarl and growl. Thankfully, Luke and Mark acted as though he were terribly fierce. They shrieked and darted away. Then Luke “stumbled” and in a moment the dog was on him. He didn’t go for the throat, as one might expect of a more threatening beast, but rather in moments he had Luke convulsed with laughter as he kept saying over and over, “I eat your tummy,” and went for the abdomen.

  Watching the boys play, Rachel shook her head, but not without affection. “Doesn’t he ever get tired of that?”

  Jessica lifted her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Rachel, who was the one child Jessica had borne for Joshua Steed before they had divorced, was not quite a year older than Luke. She had turned ten in January. She had always been of a more sober nature, thoughtful, reflective, contemplative. It had been a great blessing to her when Jessica had married John Griffith and Rachel acquired a new father and two brothers. The boys were normal boys. They teased her and dragged her into their play, whether she was of a mind to join them or not. Over the past five years, any thoughts that they weren’t full brothers and sisters had long disappeared. Kathryn McIntire was purely a foster daughter to Jessica, but the same was true with her; since moving in with Jessica and helping with the school, and particularly since they had moved to Ramus, she had become a full-fledged member of the family as well.

  They were east of Ramus out on the open prairie. Since it was a beautiful spring day, school was out, and Solomon was engaged in a meeting, they had decided to have a picnic. Borrowing Solomon’s buckboard and horse, they drove east of town, following a little-used dirt track that led past one or two isolated homesteads. About two miles out, Rachel had spied the creek and made the suggestion. “Let’s follow the creek and look for blackberry bushes. Then when the berries are ripe, we’ll already know where to come.”

  That sounded like a grand exploration to the boys and the decision was made. They unhitched the horse from the buckboard and put the hobbles on it, which would allow it to graze while they were gone. They took the picnic basket and started upstream, sometimes moving along the tree line looking for blackberry bushes, sometimes moving out into the open prairie when the undergrowth grew too thick. It had been leisurely and enjoyable. Eventually they found a stretch of blackberry bushes that was thick and several hundred yards long, and they knew their search had paid off. In celebration, that was where they spread out their picnic and ate lunch. Now it was time to lie back, let the boys play, and be simply and wonderfully lazy.

  “I can hardly wait until we can come back and pick berries,” Rachel said. “I’ll bet no one even knows about this place. We’ll have them all to ourselves.”

  “Yes,” Kathryn agreed. “Maybe we could get the whole family to come and go with us.”

  Rachel sat up straight, her face infused with excitement. “Oh, yes, Mama! Could we do that? Do you think they’d come?”

  “I’ll bet they would,” answered Jessica. “The promise of blackberry jam is a pretty strong invitation.”

  Rachel rubbed her hands together. “Let’s do it. Can I write Grandma as soon as we get home?”

  Jessica smiled at her daughter. It wasn’t very often that Rachel got this excited. “Yes, of course. I think it is a wonderful idea.” She sighed and sat up straight. “Well, I suppose we ought to think about starting back.”

  “Oh, no, Jessica,” Kathryn cried. “This has been so wonderful today. Let’s not go back yet.”

  Jessica yawned and stretched. “All right, if you absolutely insist.” And with that, she lay back down and closed her eyes. “Just carry me to the wagon when it’s time to go.”

  They lay there for nearly ten minutes, talking quietly, giggling at times like three-year-olds. Then Jessica stopped, coming up on one elbow and holding up her hand. Off to the west there was a low rumbling sound. She turned, then stood to see better. The sky above them had some high thin clouds but was still mostly clear and bright blue. But way out to the west, low in the sky, there was a line of clouds across the horizon. The tops were towering castles of white, beautiful against the blue. But their bottoms were almost black, and even as she watched, she saw the far-off glimmer of sheet lightning rippling beneath the gray undersurface.

  She looked dejected. “Looks like there is a storm coming. We’d better pack up and head back.”

  They were into the middle of April now, which was still a little early for the spring thunderstorm season, but it wouldn’t be unheard of at this time. She also knew how quickly such storms could roll in and cover the sky. “Boys!” she called. “There’s a storm coming. Time to go.” She ignored the cries of disappointment and the painful groans. “Come on. Help us gather things together.”

  “I don’t want to go yet, Mama,” Rachel said, even as she began folding up the quilt they had been reclining on.

  “I know, Rachel. It’s been a wonderful day, hasn’t it?”

  “We’ve got to be sure to remember how to get here, Rachel,” Kathryn said. “I think your suggestion about having the whole family come out here to pick blackberries is a great idea.”

  They had moved upstream at such a leisurely pace that Jessica had not realized how far from the buckboard they had come. Going up they had carried the full picnic basket and the quilt. Now, though the basket was empty, the boys were tired and finally Jessica and Kathryn had to take turns carrying Johnny. That slowed their progress even more.

  By the time they finally came in sight of the buckboard, it had taken them nearly an hour, and the weather had deteriorated dramatically. The line of clouds was moving swiftly eastward. The sun was gone and the wind was blowing stiffly from out of the west, bending the grass and powering its way through the trees along the creek line.

  “Where’s Susie, Mama?”

  Jessica turned and felt her heart drop a little. The buckboard was right where they had left it, but Susie, Solomon’s mare, was nowhere to be seen. She forced a smile. “Oh, she’s somewhere nearby, probably in the trees. With the hobbles, she can’t be too far away. Luke, you and Rachel take Johnny to the buckboard. Mark, you carry the basket and the quilt.” She glanced up worriedly. “If it starts to rain, just crawl beneath the buckboard. Kathryn and I will go find Susie.” She handed Johnny to Rachel as the sky rumbled ominously above them.

  Kathryn shook her head. “No, Jessica. You stay with the children. I’ll go find her.” She tried to sound optimistic. “She’s probably in the trees.”

  Jessica nodded. The air had that heavy, oppressive feel that signaled this could be a real storm. And when it broke, it was going to be frightening to the children. “All right. Hurry.”

  Off to their left, a jagged tongue of fire lanced downward. Kathryn winced, but instinctively started to count. For every fiv
e seconds, the lightning strike was about one mile away. One, two, three, four—crack! She jumped. That was close!

  “Hurry, Kathryn!”

  She nodded and darted away.

  “Mama. I scared!” Johnny wiggled out of Rachel’s arms and hurled himself at his mother’s legs.

  She scooped him up. “Under the buckboard. Luke, put the basket in the wagon. Keep the quilt with us so it doesn’t get wet.”

  Even as she spoke the first huge raindrops came slicing out of the sky at a forty-five-degree angle. One drop hit Jessica’s arm, stinging like a pebble flung from a boy’s slingshot. “Quickly now,” she called. “Here it comes.”

  As Rachel and the two older boys dived beneath the small wagon, there was another flash, followed almost instantly by a shattering blast of sound. The air shook and the wagon rattled. Jessica let out an involuntary cry. Luke and Mark, who were trying to be brave, grabbed each other, hollering. Little Johnny screamed and clapped his hands over his ears. Jessica shook her head, momentarily stunned. She lowered Johnny to the ground and gave him a shove. “Under the wagon, Johnny. Quick.”

  And then it was as though that last shaft of lighting had punched upward, piercing the underbelly of some massive celestial reservoir. In one instant the huge raindrops came pelting downward, melded into a shimmering sheet, torrents so heavy that the trees lining the creek disappeared as though in a fog. With a cry of dismay, Jessica rolled beneath the wagon, already soaked clear through her clothing.

  She raised her head, pawing at the hair plastered across her eyes, her head turning back and forth, trying to see through the curtain of rain that pounded down around them on all four sides now. “Kathryn!” She screamed it out. She couldn’t see her. She grabbed at the hem of her dress and wiped her eyes. “Kathryn! Forget the horse! Come back.”

  “There she is, Mama!”

  Jessica turned to look where Rachel was pointing. For a moment she saw nothing; then she saw the huddled figure, half-hidden in the grass that undulated like the roiling sea. She was forty or fifty yards away.