by Marian Wells
“Paperwork, what’s that?”
“Well, he’s getting plenty of revelations, and he’s makin’ a translation of the New Testament—you know, the Bible. The Lord’s let him know that the present translation’s been corrupted. But there’s more. The Lord’s revealed much about the Second Coming. He’s tellin’ Joe to get ready to build the city of Zion—but then He told Joe that He won’t give him any further information about all this until he gets the New Testament translated.”
“You don’t say.” Jenny turned to study Tom with those curious gray eyes, and he was caught by the play of expression in them. The questioning frown between her eyes smoothed out, but she still chewed at her lip.
“What is it, Jen?” he asked. “I’m your brother, remember?”
“I’m thinking about it all. The things you said about Joe. Tom, he used to be a friend; now you act like you really do believe he’s a prophet from God.”
Tom cleared his throat nervously. “Jen, I know this seems strange to you, that I could change and suddenly start believin’. But I’m findin’ if you stick your neck out, lookin’ for answers, you have to take them when they come.”
“Meaning?”
“He said I was obligated to myself to investigate, that my hereafter depended on it. He said to study out the truth and then ask God, and He’ll make you have a burnin’ in your bosom if it’s right. Well, I asked about Joe and I had the burnin’. Even if it sometimes goes against my grain to say it, I gotta admit, I’ve had the witness.”
He saw dark questions of disbelief appear in Jenny’s face. “Jen,” he went on slowly, “another revelation Joe had I think is for people like you. It says some are given by the Holy Ghost to know and have all these gifts from God, and others believe on their words. I think that means believe on their belief.” There was a faraway expression in her eyes. He asked, “What ya thinkin’?”
“I was remembering South Bainbridge. He was tryin’ to teach me some of the things he knew. There’s not that much difference in it all—his beliefs before and after the book.” After a moment she asked, “Did you join Joe’s new church?”
“Well, not yet, but I figure I will.”
A strange expression veiled her eyes now. “So Emma’s lost twins. A man sets a store by a family, so I guess Joe’s pretty unhappy. Is she well now?”
Tom nodded. “Adopting the little girl twins took care of their wanting a family. Least, Joe hasn’t said more.”
When it was time for Tom to return to Ohio, he sensed Jenny’s restless spirit. “I’ve got to go,” he apologized. “I promised Joe.” Then he brightened, “Maybe you could come to Ohio for a visit, see it for yourself. From the sound of it all, it’s goin’ to be the new Zion. Joe’s talkin’ some about puttin’ up a big meetin’house. I think he called it a temple, like in Jerusalem.”
After Tom left, Jenny surveyed her domain, filled with a new discontent. “This was nearly heaven itself,” she muttered gloomily as she surveyed the littered kitchen and piles of dirty dishes. “I’d thought everything in the past was gone, even that—” She sighed deeply, unable to speak of those past desires she had entertained for bright-haired Joseph.
During the following weeks, only half of Jenny’s mind worked on the tasks in which she had once taken delight. One day while she slowly pushed a scrub brush across the floor, Mrs. Barton spoke from the doorway. “Jenny, what’s wrong? I’ve been watching you drag about this house for weeks. Are you ill?”
Jenny rolled back on her heels and surveyed the messy puddle under her brush. “Ma’am, I don’t know. The heart’s gone from me. I miss Tom.” She lifted her eyes to give the lie.
“Oh, Jenny!” Mrs. Barton knelt and squeezed Jenny against her. “I’m thoughtless, taking for granted that everyone on this earth has had a life as pleasant as mine.—I came to bring you a letter. Here, go to your room and rest while I finish. It’s senseless to work hard in this heat, anyway.”
Tucked in her room under the eaves, the fresh scent of growing things wafting through the window on the afternoon breeze, Jenny leaned against her pillows and studied the envelope. The return address indicated it was from Lucy Harris.
Slowly she pried open the envelope and pushed aside newspaper clippings to find the letter. There were two. Jenny sat up and stared in disbelief. The first was a letter from Nancy!
Dear Jenny, she read, I’ve just moved back to Manchester and Lucy Harris has guilted me terribly for not having written to you. We did make an attempt to write, but the letter was returned. I have married and now am expecting a child. Jenny stopped to check the name on the paper: Alexander MacAdams. It was unfamiliar and Jenny returned to the letter. Ma and Pa have moved on west. Of course you would expect that. Even I have lost track of them. Mostly I wanted to write and tell you that Ma and the rest never ceased grieving about leaving you behind. Mostly because of your tender age. Please, if you can, come visit me in Manchester and meet your new brother-in-law and the little niece or nephew you will soon have. I would like to contact Tom, too. Mostly, Jenny, I am heavy over the way we left you. We all suffered thinking that Satan had his iron grip on your life. Mrs. Harris seems to think all things have worked out well for you. I am your affectionate sister, Nancy.
Jenny frowned as she studied the brief letter. The words had stripped away the rosy glow around her memories of home and family. Jenny leaned against the pillows and whispered, “Satan.”
How often, during those final months, Ma and Nancy had aligned against her with puzzled frowns. Search as she might, Jenny couldn’t recall a reason for the frowns.
With a sigh, Jenny dug into the envelope. She fingered the newspaper clippings, then rejected them in favor of the other letter.
Jenny read rapidly. Lucy seemed contented. She hadn’t seen Martin since he had left Manchester for Fayette. Her life was narrowed by money worries, but pleasant. She recounted the events since Jenny and Tom had left, then said: I’ve been nagged into writing to you since last February when these articles came out in the Palmyra Reflector. I’d intended writing before, but didn’t. Jenny, I’ve done much thinking and praying since you’ve left. I’m still uneasy about your time here and thinking that I didn’t do my duty by you. Somehow, despite the church meetings and the baptism, I don’t think you understand all I wanted badly to teach you about being a Christian. In a short letter, there’s little space to make up the lack. For most of us it takes a lifetime of living to come to an understanding that bears weight. But there must be a beginning. For some of us, going to church, being baptized and partaking of the elements is enough to want to love God. But I’m beginning to think that for some it isn’t enough. It’s like breaking a horse. For some it’s easy, others it’s nigh on a death struggle. Now, Jenny, I don’t want you to think I’m calling you a rebel, for I’m not. You are a very dear girl. But your spirit runs deep and high. Most of us have gentle streams of a spirit, content with the low, easy path. My girl, I sense you may have to fight your spirit, maybe much harder than most, in order to hear what God is trying to say to you.
Down at the end of the letter was a postscript. It said, What I meant to say all along was, I think you should read your Bible.
Jenny folded the letter and pushed it back into the envelope, still trying to understand why Lucy Harris cared enough to fuss over her.
Pulling the newspaper clippings out, Jenny saw immediately that they dealt with Joseph Smith. An amused smile touched her lips as she straightened the paper on her knees. Why would these clippings finally force Lucy to write her letter? Maybe the unsaid things in Lucy’s letter were that she needed to be in church learning about God. No matter what church, any was better than none.
Lucy had underlined parts of the article and Jenny’s amusement grew as she read. The first article, dated February 14, 1831, pointed out that prior to the discovery of the gold plates, a spirit in the form of a little old man had appeared to Joseph. He had promised great treasure and a book about ancient inhabitants. The article con
cluded by saying that at the time the event was said to have happened, no divine activity was claimed, although citizens of the area well recollected the incident. Jenny was genuinely puzzled as she thought back over the events of that time. There was that bunch of men calling themselves the Gold Bible Company. There was also the talk of spirits and that little old man. Was the article meaning the two views didn’t add up to the divine? She frowned and shook her head, remembering those things Adela had said about worship.
The next article, dated February 28, 1831, started out by saying that Joe had never claimed communion with angels until a long time after the advent of the book. The article also mentioned his peep stone and Joseph’s accounts of seeing wonders in it, as well as his interviews with the spirit who had custody of the hidden treasures. For a moment Jenny thought about the time Joe had offered to let her look in his stone. Now she was filled with regret for her timidity.
Reading on, she murmured, “So it was Cicero’s Orations I heard Walters reading! Whatever he was reading, it was beautiful.” She finished the article, amused by the report of the digging she had witnessed from the bushes on the night she had followed Tom and Martin Harris into the forest. “Little did I know that there was someone else hiding out in the bushes!” she chuckled. Slipping the articles back into the envelope, Jenny leaned against her pillows and stared out the window.
She let the words of the letters and the articles tumble through her thoughts in a haphazard manner. Slowly an uneasiness began to grow, and a few of the words kept circling back: Satan, baptism, rebel.
She turned away from the window and looked at the green book wedged in the shelf between her sewing basket and her hat. Deliberately she forced out of her mind all thoughts generated by the letters and articles and began thinking back to those long-ago days. Foremost was her childhood resolution regarding Joe which had fastened itself on her mind; then she recalled Tom’s words. “So Emma is well and Joseph is happy,” she murmured.
Like wings whisking her away, her thoughts transported her in time and place. The dark, mysterious forest of Manchester surrounded her, and out of the blackness danced a figure in red. “Ah—Adela,” Jenny murmured with a smile. “I wish you were as easy to come by as thoughts. I’d like to talk to you. What would you have to say about my feelings? I know; I’ve listened to you often enough to know you’d ask what I really wanted from life, and then you’d tell me that I could have anything as long as I wanted it bad enough to—” Jenny stopped, shuddering at the memory of the last time she had seen Adela.
She recoiled from the memory of the horrible scene in the church. But in spite of herself she was murmuring, “Adela, I ruined forever my chances of truly being your friend, didn’t I? I wish I could have another chance.”
Jenny fell to musing about it all, weighing the significance of the step Adela had urged her to take. Once again she shivered; then, as if returning from a far country, quickly she sat up and smoothed her hair. Adela’s suggestion was impossible, but there must be another way. Maybe Joseph and his new church held the answers.
Although the hot sunlight streamed in her bedroom window, Jenny smoothed her tumbled hair and murmured:
“Luna, every woman’s friend
To me thy goodness condescend.
Let this night in visions see
Emblems of my destiny.”
Jenny felt better after her rest and went downstairs to her tasks with a lighter heart.
As summer gained momentum, life pressed hard against her. Mrs. Barton wasn’t a difficult person to please, but it was a busy household.
One day Mrs. Barton looked at Jenny’s tired face and said, “I must find another girl. You’re doing the work of two right now, and there’s school soon.”
So at harvest time Clara joined the household. Clara was short and plump, with a frizzle of light hair. Her blue eyes, Jenny immediately noticed, were prone to disappear completely when she laughed, and that was often. Too often, Jenny thought as she moved behind Clara, catching broken pieces, and rescuing abandoned tasks.
Soon Jenny was as frayed as Clara’s hair. If it hadn’t been for the book, Jenny realized later, her nerves would have been as fragmented as Mrs. Barton’s berry bowl when Clara tried to wash it.
During the hot, heavy days of August, Mark came calling. Mrs. Barton called it “courting,” and she said it with a gentle smile. But whatever it was, Jenny was glad to see him.
They sat on the side porch, shaded by vines that wandered up the lattice to the second story, and Mark filled her full of his tales of the law office. Later as she slowly climbed the stairs to her room, she mulled over the meaning of his visit, and frowned over the memory of the look in his eyes and the way he had pressed her hand.
She lingered on the stairs trying to understand her emotions. Were the mingled memories of the past responsible for the discontent she felt around him? Fleetingly, she wondered what he would think about the green book and the growing need she was feeling in her life.
The moment before she touched her door, she saw the slit of light. “Clara!” she exclaimed, then saw the book she held. “Oh!”
Closing the book, Clara laughed merrily. “Your face! Jenny, don’t look so frightened. I won’t tell our good Presbyterian lady, and I won’t be corrupted. You see, I know all about it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps I’m sent to help you understand even better.”
Chapter 15
When Tom returned to Kirtland after visiting Jenny, he had the sense of being dropped back to earth with a jolt. Going about his duties at the livery stable, he mulled over the feeling. Had he painted a rosy picture for Jenny that didn’t exist? Did the complaints and gossip he had been hearing since his return reveal the true facts?
Just this morning, Knight had stepped into the stable. His usual good humor had been masked behind a perplexed frown. “What’s your trouble?” Tom asked his employer as he stabled Knight’s horse and tossed in hay.
“Just chewin’ over events,” he muttered, picking up the account books and heading for the office.
“Like what? You forget I’ve been gone.”
He turned in the doorway. “I did forget you’ve not been hearing the rumbling. Right now seems everyone’s out to prove he’s special with the Lord. Joseph started it with his promise of blessings. My idea is that Rigdon’s glory halo rankles Joe. He ought not feel that way. ’Tis obvious Joseph’s the Lord’s favorite.”
He stopped to glance at Tom. “Then a new thing happened to shake people’s faith. The Mortinsens over Thompson way had a sick baby. They were all set to take him to the doctor, and one of the brethren told them not to. Said the Lord had promised the child would be healed.”
“So, isn’t that the way we are supposed to be livin’?”
He looked at Tom. “So they say. The Mortinsens are having a hard time believing that. Their baby died. Now a faction’s saying only false prophets have their prophecies fail. No matter. I experienced the Lord’s healing at Joseph’s hand.” He turned and left the room.
The next day was the first day of the June church conference. Slicked up and wearing a new shirt, Tom walked toward the meetinghouse with Lyman Wight. The older man was bringing him up-to-date, detailing all that had happened while Tom had been in New York. “You should’ve heard Joe,” Wight said, shaking his head. “There’s sure been a high tide of feeling that the Lord’s about to be blessin’ us in an unusual way.”
“What did he say?” Tom questioned as he followed Lyman to his seat in the assembly hall.
For a moment Lyman looked startled. “Oh, he said that not three days would pass before someone would see the Savior face to face.” He continued, “This is like it was last year when we first came, the excitement.”
While Tom looked around, greeting friends who had come to hear the Prophet, Joseph Smith got to his feet. From the podium his eyes swept the room as he spoke. “I’ve much to reveal to you of the Lord’s wisdom and plans for these final days before the Second
Coming. Now I want to give you the story of just what happened to the ten lost tribes of Israel. I will also be revealing to you God’s plan for the priesthood in these latter days.
“In the past only Jesus Christ and Melchizedek held this priesthood, but now it is ours. We have been given the power to become high priests before Him. Now is the time to confer this order of priesthood on the righteous.”
With beckoning hands, Joseph Smith called out names and began to ordain his men to the priesthood. Joseph’s gaze swept toward Tom, hesitated, and moved on. Tom’s pounding heart attested to the tension in the room, but he reminded himself, “Fella, there’s no call to get excited. You had your chance when Joe pressed you to join up with him, and you put it off. Now stand back and watch the others get the blessin’.” His disappointment was tempered as he began to realize the responsibility these men were taking upon themselves. “The true church,” he whispered. “’Tis a big task to take out the message to the world.”
Beside him, Lyman Wight suddenly surged to his feet. With outstretched arms held rigid, he shouted, “You want to see a sign? Look at me. I see the heavens open and the Son of Man!”
In the confusion there came another cry, “Brother Joseph, Ben here’s been struck deaf and dumb. Come heal him.” While the Prophet crossed the room, Tom was wondering if the others remembered how Joseph’s prayers for healing had failed in the past. The man sitting beside Tom whispered, “Just yesterday Joe said that now was the time for great miracles to break out upon the church.”
As Joseph reached out to touch the man, Tom found he was holding his breath. Joseph turned to the congregation and said, “Remember, now’s the time for the Lord to break out upon us. Pray, my friends, pray!” His voice was rising in intensity, and a surge of excitement filled the room. As people jumped to their feet, Tom could no longer see. He heard a sigh of relief, and then, “He’s healed!” Tom saw the beaming face of the man.
