Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  Joshua came forward a little now. “But if he can do something about those things and won’t, doesn’t that say something about what kind of person he is?”

  “Like maybe he doesn’t care?” Nathan offered.

  “Well, that’s one possibility. Or maybe he doesn’t hear us. I know you picture a God who is a personal being, a Heavenly Father, as you call him, who watches over his children like a doting parent. What if he is nothing more than a Great Clockmaker? He made our world and all that’s in it, then wound it up and put it on the mantel. Now he’s off to other things.”

  Nathan was nodding now. “But if he is a caring, loving person, he wouldn’t act in that way? That’s what you’re thinking, right?”

  “Yeah, something like that. It’s either that or you have to say that he doesn’t have the power to change things. That’s a possibility too. He would like to do something, but he can’t.”

  “I submit that there’s another explanation for why he works with us as he does. I submit that by his very nature he won’t do certain things. Not that he can’t, but that he won’t.” He could see that he had piqued Joshua’s interest now, so he went on quickly. “By nature, God is perfect in his every attribute. He is not only loving and merciful, he is perfectly loving and perfectly merciful. He is a just God, but he is more than that, he is perfectly just. He has perfect power, perfect knowledge. In everything, he is perfect. That’s what makes him God.”

  “All right,” Joshua said slowly, clearly thinking that through. “So what?”

  “So think about it. If he is perfect, then every part of his character has to be in perfect balance, perfect harmony. For example, he can’t be so filled with love that he ignores what’s right and wrong. Justice is part of his nature too. He can’t overlook evil simply because he loves the person who commits the evil. Does that make sense?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, let’s say Savannah does something you feel is deeply wrong. You punish her. Does that mean you don’t love her?”

  “No, I punish her because I do love her. I want what’s best for . . . her . . .” His words petered out, not because he disagreed with Nathan, but because he finally saw where Nathan was going with this.

  “Exactly. And will Savannah always see it that way, that you’re doing this for her, because you love her?”

  He had to concede. Nathan had tied it up neatly. “No, sometimes she will be angry and say that I don’t love her. I can remember once when she was just two or three, I took a hunting knife away from her. She got angry with me and said that I hated her.”

  “Ah,” Nathan said slowly, pleased with his answer. “And so, if God wants what is best for us, sometimes he may do things that make us think he doesn’t hear us, or that he doesn’t care?”

  Joshua had to give it to him, though it came a little grudgingly. It was a logical explanation. “I can see that is a possibility,” he finally said.

  Nathan tried not to look too elated. “Good. Now, here’s a second important point, and again, let me use an example. Why was it you and Pa fought so bitterly back in Palmyra?”

  “Because we thought differently.”

  “No. You and I thought differently too, but we didn’t fight like that. Melissa and you were always very close, but she disagreed with much of what you were doing. So why did you and Pa have such a clash?”

  His eyes were thoughtful. “I guess because he tried to force me to do what he thought was best for me. I didn’t like that.”

  Nathan nodded in satisfaction.

  Joshua smiled at him. “All right, I’ve made your point. So what is it?”

  “Now that you look back on it, do you think that what Pa wanted for you was better for you than what you wanted for yourself?”

  “No question about it.”

  “So doesn’t that make it all right? If what I’m trying to make you do is actually good for you, why can’t I force you to do it?”

  “Because you have no right to choose what is best for me. Maybe I’ll make some dumb mistakes—like I did, by the way—but that’s what freedom is all about. I don’t want you telling me what I have to do to be good.”

  “You don’t want me lashing you to a hitching post and whipping you until you agree to become a member of the Church?”

  He shook his head slowly, his mind starting to expand on the implications of that. “No.”

  “There has been more than one religion that has tried that very thing. That’s why the Founding Fathers wrote the Bill of Rights.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You call it freedom, Joshua. The Lord calls it ‘moral agency.’ In the Church we believe that an inherent part of our eternal nature is the desire, the will, the longing to be free, to have choice, to be allowed to carry out those choices. This agency is so fundamental that we believe we cannot be happy if it is taken away from us.”

  “I agree. Slavery is not a very happy condition.”

  “Exactly. So think about agency and God for a moment. God, understanding that inner drive, that inward part of our nature, made it part of his plan to give us agency. Agency is so sacred, so important to our happiness, that the Father has determined that he will never violate it.”

  “If I believed that, it would certainly make me feel better about God.”

  “If I thought God did anything else but that, that he would force me to do his will, I would have trouble worshipping him. We cannot be happy when we are forced to do someone else’s will.”

  He stopped but Joshua merely watched him, his eyes thoughtful.

  “Part of God’s respect for agency is related to happiness,” Nathan continued, “but there’s something else just as fundamental. Force takes away morality.”

  “Say that again.”

  “Force takes away morality. Let me explain what I mean. Suppose I put a gun to your head and make you kneel in prayer. Does that make you a spiritual person?”

  “No, that’s obvious. You have to want to do something like that or it’s meaningless.”

  “Precisely my point. If there is no choice, then you cannot talk about doing right or wrong. There must be agency in order for there to be morality—goodness or badness.”

  Joshua lay back on his elbow, chewing on his lip, deep in thought. Nathan waited. This was so important for what had to follow.

  “So you’re saying,” Joshua began, speaking slowly as he thought through what was in his mind, “that God can’t force us—”

  “I suppose he could,” Nathan broke in. “He’s got all power. That’s why I started with the first concept about God’s nature. He can, but he won’t.”

  “Because it would be contrary to his nature.”

  “Right!” It was hard for Nathan not to cry out aloud. Joshua was getting it. “So, now let’s go to your question about mercy. Suppose in his desire for mercy God stopped that man from spitting tobacco juice at my oxen. He could do that, but why wouldn’t he?”

  “Maybe he should,” Joshua said, though not with any conviction. “Is Pa’s life worth that man’s freedom?”

  Nathan leaned forward, very earnest now. “So what you want is selective agency. You’re free to do what you choose up to a point, then someone will step in and stop you.”

  “Well,” he began, then stopped.

  “We all tried to convince you that Olivia was not lying to you about her relationship with Joseph Smith,” Nathan said very slowly now, “we tried to show you that what you were doing was not right. How did you feel then? I know now you wish that someone would have stopped you, but then?”

  There was no answer to that, not, at least, that he could put into words. It was still too searingly painful. He decided to answer it in a different way. “If God is God, why can’t he just make us so we’re not that way, so we’re not stubborn or stupid or selfish?”

  “Because then it is his choice, not yours, Joshua. You, of all people, ought to understand why he can’t do that.”

  He finally nodded. “All righ
t. I agree. I’m not sure I like it, but I understand what you’re saying.” He straightened suddenly. “I’m going to have to think on that.”

  Nathan stood up, wanting to say so much more, but sensing he had just heard Joshua call for a halt. “That answers your second question about God’s mercy, but not the first one about redemption. When you’re ready to talk about that, let me know.”

  Joshua hauled himself up. “I will.” He looked around, then stretched lazily. “I’d say we’ve got about two hours. Think we can finish splitting everything we cut before Heber comes back?”

  Nathan surveyed their work site for a moment. “I think so. You want me to take the beetle or work the gluts?”

  It was late afternoon of May nineteenth. Peter Ingalls, walking at the head of the four yoke of oxen that pulled James Reed’s “pioneer palace car,” was thinking about the last week. It had been exactly that, one full week, since they had left Independence, Missouri. They had made good time in those seven days, not stopping for the Sabbath in their urgency, resting their teams only as absolutely necessary, as they sought to catch the main wagon train out in front of them. Reed and the Donner brothers estimated they were now about one hundred miles or so west of the border of the United States, somewhere out in that unnamed territory that the local Indians called Kansas. Peter was getting a little concerned. They had found good grass for the most part, and plenty of water along the Kansas River or the creeks that emptied into it, but they were pushing the animals hard. Even the best of oxen needed to stop every six or seven days to recruit their strength.

  He heard the sound of children’s laughter, and turned his head. Mrs. Reed had borrowed her daughter’s horse and now rode up ahead with her husband. Kathryn had the children in the wagon, supposedly giving them their daily lesson. But from the peals of giggles coming from the wagon, he guessed they had more likely wheedled a story out of Kathryn. Through the open wagon cover Peter could see Mrs. Keyes. Her head was back and she was smiling. That said something about Kathryn’s influence, because Mrs. Reed’s mother was not doing well now at all. Peter smiled and turned back to the front. That was good. Since both Mrs. Keyes and Kathryn had no choice but to ride in the wagon, they had grown quite close. Mrs. Keyes adored Kathryn, and Kathryn seemed to feel a special affinity for the older woman. The laughter and smiles were proof enough of that.

  Peter heard the shout from up ahead. He squinted a little, then saw that George Donner’s lead teamster was waving his hat and pointing. Peter lifted his eyes, and felt a sudden jolt of excitement. His eye immediately caught the splashes of white amid the green foliage of the river bottoms about two or three miles ahead of them. It was a wagon train, and, judging from the number of wagon covers he could see, it was a big one at that.

  Ahead he saw James Reed put spurs to his horse and join the two Donners. They conferred for a moment, then Reed raced ahead. Peter turned his head. “I think it’s them,” he called.

  There was a scuffling sound; then Kathryn and the children were at the front of the wagon. “Who?” young James said.

  “The Russell train,” Peter said jubilantly. He was grinning widely. “One week. It only took us a week to catch them. And they were originally eight or nine days ahead of us.”

  Reed returned in three-quarters of an hour. He was in an ebullient mood as he came loping up. By then Margret Reed was back in the wagon with her mother. She came to the wagon’s door at the sound of the horse. As Reed swung down and tied the reins of his horse to the wagon wheel, he was beaming triumphantly. “It’s done, Margret,” he cried, striding to where he could reach up and take her hand. “They voted unanimously to accept our group.”

  “Wonderful, James.”

  “Yes, it is,” he enthused. “There are about a hundred fighting men down there, nearly fifty wagons.”

  Peter nodded. Only the most powerful Indian band would dare take on a train of this size.

  “How about women?” Mrs. Keyes asked. “Do they have many women?”

  James Reed smiled up at his mother-in-law. “They have about fifty and some children as well. You’ll have lots of company, Mother.” Reed looked back to his wife. “We’ve done it, Mrs. Reed. We’ve found our train. This is the last big hurdle. Now we’re on our way to California.”

  Chapter Notes

  The Donner-Reed group left Independence, Missouri, on 12 May 1846. A substantial wagon train led by Colonel William Henry Russell had left Independence about eight or nine days before that. Anxious to have the safety of the larger train, the Donners and the Reeds pushed hard and found the Russell train a week later somewhere near Topeka in present-day Kansas. They were accepted unanimously and thereafter traveled with members of the larger group until they reached what was known as “the parting of the ways” in present-day Wyoming. (See Walter M. Stookey, Fatal Decision: The Tragic Story of the Donner Party [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1950], pp. 63, 74–75.)

  Chapter 21

  It was a beautiful day in what had become an almost never-ending string of beautiful days. The trade winds were steady and the Brooklyn was under full sail. She cut through the water effortlessly, sending a spray off the bow and into the wind. No wonder they called it the Pacific Ocean, Alice thought as she came through the hatch onto the deck and looked around. It was enough to pacify even the most troubled heart.

  It was not a big surprise for her to find Will near the prow of the ship, leaning over the rail, his face to the wind, letting the beads of spray strike him full in the face, then licking the salty water off his lips with relish. He had gone up to help put up the awnings for the afternoon school that was held on deck. She had stayed behind to help clean the passenger hold. As she came out of the hatch and saw that the awnings were up, she immediately turned to the front of the ship, knowing that’s where he would be.

  Will heard her footsteps and turned. “Are you done?”

  “Yes. You too, I see.”

  “Uh-huh. It doesn’t take long anymore.”

  She moved up beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. “So what have you been thinking?”

  “About Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii?”

  “Yes, that’s what the natives call the Sandwich Islands.”

  “Really? What does it mean?”

  He shrugged. “The first mate says it comes from Hawaiki, the legendary homeland of all the Polynesians.”

  “Has he been to the islands before?”

  “Several times. He was on a whaler before he joined with Captain Richardson.”

  “Are there lots of whales around Hawaii?”

  “Not always. Most of the whaling is done way north of there, in the Gulf of Alaska.”

  “Oh.” She leaned forward so her face could catch the wind too. “So why do they call them the Sandwich Islands, then?”

  “Well, again, according to the first mate, Captain James Cook, who discovered them, named them after the Earl of Sandwich, who was Lord of the English Admiralty at the time Cook sailed.”

  “I like Hawaii much better.”

  “So do I. And I love the Polynesian names. We’ll dock in the harbor at Honolulu on the island of Oahu, which is not far from the island of Molokai. There are also islands called Maui and Lanai and Kauai. There’re smaller ones too, but I don’t remember their names. The king who united the islands over thirty years ago was called—” He had to stop for a moment to make sure he had it. He had been so charmed by the name that he had made the ship’s officer repeat it until he could get it right. “Kamehameha.”

  “Oh,” she said with a laugh, “that’s lovely. Say it again. More slowly, please.”

  “Ka-may-ha-may-ha.”

  She laughed, then bowed slightly, swirling her hand as if to royalty. “I’m very pleased to meet you, your majesty Kamehameha.”

  “Well, actually now it’s Kamehameha the Third, one of the sons of the original king. Before he took the dynastic name, he was called Kauikeaouli.”

  She clapped her hands
. “Oh, yes, Will. I see why you love them. They sound like poetry.” Then she gave him a closer look. “How do you know all this?”

  His shoulders lifted briefly. “I ask a lot of questions.”

  She nodded, more serious now. “You like to learn about places where you’re going, don’t you?”

  “Sure. I find it fascinating.”

  “So how much longer?”

  “Well, today is the twenty-third. The captain is predicting landfall about the third week of June, so a little less than a month.”

  She groaned. It seemed like a year since they had left the Juan Fernández Islands, even though it had been only two weeks ago. And New York seemed like an eternity ago. “That long?” she mourned.

  “Yep. But if it’s any solace to you, Captain Richardson plans to stay there for a week to ten days.”

  “Good. Why is that?”

  “He has the cargo to unload, as well as restocking with food and water before we turn east again.”

  “And then how long will it be?” It came out with longing. She could hardly imagine being on land without having to count the days until they sailed again.

  “About a month after that.”

  She moaned again. “So when, then?”

  He calculated swiftly. “About the end of July or the first week of August, depending on how long we stay at Honolulu.”

  Her hand stole down to her stomach, now visibly round even beneath the layers of her clothing. She was due to give birth near the end of September sometime. “I don’t want to have to name our son ‘Atlantic’ or ‘Pacific,’ Will.”

  He laughed. Shortly after the great storm which had hit them within a few days of departing New York, Sister Sarah Burr gave birth to a son. They named him John Atlantic Burr. And just recently, Phoebe Robbins, who had lost two of her sons during the early part of the voyage, gave birth to a little girl. At the midday meal Brother Robbins announced that she would be called Georgiana Pacific Robbins.

  Then suddenly Will realized what she had said. “You think it’s a boy?”

  For the first time she decided not to put his question off. “Yes, I do, Will.”