“That’s what you say. Others don’t believe it. And there is some question as to where Oliver Cowdery stands.”
Nathan started to retort, feeling his blood rising. But they were just coming up the walk to the great doors that were the east entrance to the temple. There were others there, some standing and talking, some just entering. Nathan took one last, whispered shot out of the corner of his mouth. “And where do you stand, Father?”
Benjamin didn’t answer. They were almost to the nearest group of brethren. They stopped and shook hands. They greeted several others, then started for the door. As they stepped forward, for a moment they were alone again. Nathan looked across at his father. “You can’t sit on the fence forever, Pa. Already there are people saying that your silence means that you are in agreement with them.”
“Come on,” Benjamin said, as though Nathan had not spoken. “Let’s get upstairs or we’re going to be late.”
* * *
“Joseph is not a bad man,” Warren Parrish said, his voice nearly oozing with charm. “No one is saying that. He has meant well, and he has tried hard.” Suddenly his voice shot up in both volume and pitch. “But I say he has lost the prophetic gift.” His fist crashed down on the pulpit, startling one of the older men near the back of the room who had started to doze. “He is a fallen prophet, and what has happened to the Kirtland Safety Society is proof of that.”
“Hear, hear!” someone cried from the back.
Brigham Young was the senior Apostle present and felt compelled to speak. He swung around in his seat, his brows pulled down in a deep furrow, his eyes spitting fire. “We’ll have order in this meeting, brethren, or we’ll immediately dismiss and continue it at another time.”
Parrish pounced on that. “Oh, no, Brigham. Now is the time for action. We have already let this drag on, and look where it has gotten us. Only deeper and deeper into trouble.”
John Taylor raised his hand, but Parrish shot him a withering look. “I have the floor at present, Mr. Taylor.” Without waiting for a response, he swung back to the assembly of priesthood leaders. “We have several members of the Twelve present. We have both counselors in the First Presidency. We have leaders from the various priesthood quorums. I say we have sufficient leadership present here now to make a decision.”
He stopped, his chest rising and falling. His eyes narrowed into two dark points of glittering triumph. “I hereby propose that this body act to solve the problem once and for all. I propose that Joseph Smith be removed from his office as prophet, seer, and revelator to the Church, and that our good brother David Whitmer be sustained to take his place.”
The room broke out in instant pandemonium, but John Boynton, one of the Twelve, shot to his feet. “Second the motion!” he shouted into the noise.
“Strike the motion!” “Second the motion!” “Vote! Vote!” The cries rang out like shots from a volley of muskets.
Nathan looked around the room in horror. He had expected the opposition to bring forth their usual charges against Joseph—but remove him from office? He was stunned. He looked at his father. Benjamin returned the look, his face grim. He just shook his head.
Brigham Young was on his feet now too. He stepped to the podium, elbowing Parrish aside. He turned and faced the group, staring down at them with such fierceness that gradually the bedlam subsided a little. But there were still angry mutterings, and several individuals were in heated conversation.
“Brethren,” he thundered, “we shall have order, or we shall clear this room.”
As Brigham waited for silence, Nathan suddenly remembered something he had heard Joseph say some years before. There had been a meeting with some of the brethren. Brigham was asked to give the prayer, and when he did so he spoke in tongues. After the meeting, Joseph had said to some of those close by, “Someday, Brother Brigham will lead this church.” It was clear now how that could be possible, for he stood like a lion, his eyes sweeping the room and daring anyone to resist further.
Finally, even the last undertones of whispering and muttering stopped. “Brethren.” His voice had dropped again, and the contrast was such that several leaned forward to hear him more clearly. “I find it no accident that this meeting has been called while Brother Joseph is away. I wonder why it is that we do not have the courage to do this when Joseph is present.”
Several heads ducked, or eyes turned away. “This is a crisis, brethren,” Brigham went on. “This is a time when earth and hell are in league together to overthrow the Prophet and the Church of God.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan saw a man two rows behind him stir. He half turned. It was Jacob Bump, a small but wiry man who had been a boxer some years before. He was known for having a fiery temper and for being one of those most virulent in his attacks against Joseph.
Brigham ignored him. He had a fire of his own inside him at the moment, and he wasn’t about to let someone make him hold it in. “It is obvious that the knees of many, even some of the strongest in the Church, have faltered.”
His eyes raked those along the front two rows. There were nearly twenty of the opposition seated together. Among them were David Whitmer and Martin Harris. Next to these two sat the Pratt brothers, Orson and Parley (it had pained Nathan greatly to see the two brothers sitting with the dissidents). On the row behind them were Luke and Lyman Johnson, John Boynton, and William Smith. To the sorrow of the Smith family, Joseph’s younger brother William, always headstrong and arrogant, had become sympathetic to the opposition, who, of course, milked that with great effect, for William was also a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Between them, they represented a substantial portion of the leadership in Kirtland. But if Brigham was intimidated by either their numbers or their callings, it did not show.
There was a strong core of support for Joseph as well. Sidney Rigdon, First Counselor in the First Presidency, sat alongside Heber C. Kimball. And there were others who, though not in the Quorum of the Twelve, were part of the growing leadership in the Church. There was Wilford Woodruff, fearless and solid; Brigham’s cousin Willard Richards; John Taylor and Joseph Fielding from Canada; Newel K. Whitney, the bishop of Kirtland; Lorenzo Snow, brother to Eliza Snow; John Smith, the Prophet’s uncle; and others. While it was true that Brigham had formidable opposition to deal with, he also had a group of stalwarts behind him.
“Well, I tell you this,” Brigham went on, the anger making his voice tremble slightly as he looked at the men who were trying to depose Joseph, “Joseph Smith is a prophet. He was called of God, and only God can release him. You may rail at him and slander him as much as you please, but you cannot destroy the appointment of a prophet of God.”
Jacob Bump was up now, his mouth working in spasms. “This man is nothing but a lick skillet to Joseph Smith,” he cried. “Who is he to speak like that to us?”
Brigham completely ignored him, still speaking to the group that composed the core of the opposition. “I’ll tell you what you can do if you choose. You can’t cut off Joseph’s authority, for it comes from God, but you can cut off your own authority. You can cut the thread that binds you to the Prophet, and you can sink yourselves to hell, if you choose.”
“Let me at him!” Bump yelled. He was dancing around, his fists up now. The men on both sides of Bump leaped to their feet and grabbed him by the shoulders. They were trying to restrain him, but he was writhing and squirming beneath their grasp. “How can I keep my hands off that man?” he kept saying over and over.
Brigham looked at him calmly. “Brother Bump, if you think it will give you any relief, why don’t you come forward and try and lay your hands upon me.”
Jacob Bump continued to splutter and fume, but Nathan saw that the men restraining him were not having to struggle very hard to do it now. Nathan smiled a little. Brigham was not much taller than Bump. It would have been a good match. But suddenly the old pugilist didn’t seem quite so enthusiastic about venting his frustrations.
Lorenzo Snow raised his hand, and B
righam immediately called on him. He was a younger man but held in great respect by many of the brethren. He stood slowly, then faced the group. “Brethren, I wish to speak in defense of Brother Joseph. I know that he has human frailties. Which of us does not? I am keenly aware of my own, but does that mean I cannot continue in service to God? Which of you are free of weaknesses and—”
Nathan was startled as his father suddenly stood. He looked up, for one instant panicked. He was afraid Benjamin was going to cut in, try to contradict what Lorenzo was saying. But Benjamin was not looking at Lorenzo. In fact, he was not looking at anyone. His head was down, and his eyes were fixed on the floor. “Excuse me,” he mumbled to the man sitting next to him. And then he was out of the row and moving toward the door.
For a long moment Nathan stared after him, keenly aware of the other eyes that were doing the same. But then, almost without thinking, he was up and on his way out as well. Brigham gave Nathan a questioning look as he passed him. Nathan could only shrug and then move quickly after his father.
* * *
They walked up Chillicothe Road—or Smith Road—away from the temple, Benjamin taking long steps, Nathan hurrying to keep pace with him. Benjamin had not spoken a word since his abrupt exit. He had given Nathan a sharp look when his son had caught up with him on the stairway leading down to the front entrance, but he had said nothing.
Nathan couldn’t bear it any longer. “Pa,” he started tentatively.
His father swung his head around and glared at him. Nathan ducked his head a little but wasn’t about to be deflected. “Pa, we have got to talk about this.”
“I didn’t leave that meeting because I wanted to talk,” came the retort.
“I just want to—”
Benjamin made a sharp cut to the left, leaving Nathan on the pathway as he cut across the road. He looked over his shoulder. “Tell your mother I’ll be home after a while. Tell her not to wait up for me.”
Nathan came to a stop. He stared after the retreating back of his father. Benjamin did not turn around again, just strode off into the night.
* * *
The meeting in the temple took place on the twenty-seventh of May. Joseph returned to Kirtland in time for Sunday worship services the next day. During the services, Warren Parrish, supported by other dissidents, could not resist standing up once more and speaking out against the Prophet, even pronouncing a curse upon his head. Joseph—very much aware of the opposition movement that was afoot, but nevertheless exercising great patience in dealing with it—stood and spoke calmly but powerfully to the congregation of Saints, defending his position and simply stating that ultimately he would stand and his enemies fall. Several others expressed their support of Joseph as God’s prophet. As one faithful Saint put it, “Joseph acted wisely, while all saw the spirit of his foe.”
A group of well-meaning Church members sought to bring charges against some of the dissidents the following day, but procedural disputes frustrated those efforts, and no action was taken. And so for now the opposition appeared to have calmed somewhat, or at least it went underground again. The Saints seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, for the tension had reached a fever pitch in Joseph’s absence.
On the first Sunday in June, the Saints gathered again for their Sabbath worship services in the temple. Nathan and Lydia sat on the third row back. Young Joshua—hair slicked back, and dressed in knickers, white shirt, and suspenders—sat next to his father. Little Emily, so much the image of her mother with her dark, long hair and wide, inquiring eyes—sat proudly next to him. Her mother had finished a new dress for her just the day before, and she was sure every eye in the room was taking note of it. Lydia held baby Nathan on her lap. He would be two in October, and looked with wide-eyed wonder on everything around him.
Nathan idly watched the people coming in. He and the family were seated near the west end, where the Melchizedek Priesthood pulpits rose in three grand tiers above the sacrament table. Already seated on the stand on one side of the pulpits were all the members of the Twelve who were presently in Kirtland. Joseph was moving among them, smiling and shaking hands. Nathan felt a flash of anger as he watched Luke and Lyman Johnson smile up at him as though there were not a thing wrong. And John Boynton and William Smith—it was as if there were not a problem in the world between them.
Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball were seated side by side, being next to each other in seniority in the Quorum. There was a warm exchange between Joseph and Brigham, and Nathan guessed that Joseph had gotten a full report of Brigham’s role in the meeting held while Joseph was away, and now Joseph was undoubtedly again expressing his gratitude to the faithful Apostle. Then Joseph turned to Heber. They too shook hands. Suddenly, Joseph leaned over and whispered something in Heber’s ear. Heber’s head jerked up so sharply, he nearly cracked Joseph’s chin.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed, intent on the interchange he was witnessing. It was obvious this was far more than a casual greeting. Heber’s eyes were wide and filled with shock. He shook his head quickly. Joseph smiled and nodded firmly. Heber shook his head again, this time more slowly. Joseph said something else, smiling even more broadly, then reached down and patted him on the shoulder. Then he moved away.
A moment later Joseph went to his place in the pulpits, and the meeting began. But throughout the worship services Nathan’s eyes kept stealing back to look at Heber C. Kimball. The Apostle did not seem to recover from his encounter with Joseph. He looked pale, dazed, as though he had been struck hard in the stomach and was having a difficult time breathing. Nathan wasn’t sure what had happened, but he determined that immediately after the meeting he would find out what it was.
* * *
Outside the temple there were still small groups of Saints here and there, but most of the eight hundred or so who had been in the meeting had left by now. Lydia had sent the children home with Benjamin and Mary Ann and then had joined in a conversation with Emma Smith, Elizabeth Ann Whitney, and Mary Ann Young.
Nathan stood by himself, watching the door to the temple. He had hoped to go right up and corner Brother Kimball after the meeting was over, but Heber had made an immediate beeline for Joseph, and they fell into deep conversation. Now he had about decided Heber wasn’t coming. But as he turned to call to Lydia that it was time to go, the door opened and Vilate Kimball stepped out. Her husband was right behind her.
Good, thought Nathan, they were alone. As he started toward them, the group of sisters called their greetings to Vilate. She smiled and moved over to join them. Heber stood for a moment, squinting in the bright sunshine. Nathan quickened his step and walked over to him.
“Ah, Brother Nathan,” Heber said with a big smile. “And how are you on this fine day?”
“Fine, thank you.” They shook hands, then Nathan gave his friend a sharp look. “Better than you, it seems.” Nathan went on quickly. “I saw Brother Joseph lean over and whisper in your ear before the meeting. You haven’t looked well since.”
Heber managed a wan smile. “You’re very observant, Brother Nathan. I have to admit, the rest of the meeting is a bit of a blur to me.”
Nathan waited. He had been more bold than he should have been and felt that he could not pry further without exceeding the bounds of common courtesy.
Heber sighed. It was a sound of deep pain. “I am a man of such stammering tongue. I am altogether unfit for a work of such magnitude. How can I go preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for its learning, its knowledge, and its piety. It is the nursery of religion. The intelligence of its people is proverbial.” He shook his head in despair. “How can one such as I expect to succeed in such a land?”
Nathan was staring at him. “What land?”
Heber looked surprised, then it hit him that Nathan couldn’t have known what passed between him and Joseph. He put a hand on Nathan’s arm. “You weren’t present, Nathan, but the other day I heard Joseph make a most interesting statement. He said that something new m
ust be done for the salvation of the Church.”
“Yes, my father told me about that.”
“Well . . .” Heber reached up and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Well, today he revealed what that new something is to be.”
“What?”
The dazed looked came into his eyes again. “When Joseph leaned over, this is what he said to me. ‘Brother Heber, the Spirit of the Lord has whispered: Let my servant Heber go to England and proclaim my gospel and open the door of salvation to that nation.’”
Nathan’s jaw dropped. “England?” he echoed.
“Yes. England. Me! Heber C. Kimball. Son of a blacksmith. A man who makes clay pots with his hands. Heber C. Kimball, going to England, seat of an empire on which the sun never sets.”
“That’s wonderful, Heber! England! What a marvelous thing!”
“I felt intimations of this calling some months ago. In fact, I told Brother Willard Richards about it and promised that he would accompany me. But now that the call has come, I am overwhelmed.”
Another thought hit Heber, and his eyes widened with wonder. “Nathan,” he said with sudden eagerness, “do you remember the blessing you and I gave to Brother Parley more than a year ago now?”
“Of course. I’ll never forget that.” Nathan could not help but feel a twinge of sorrow at the mention of Parley’s name, for there had been no sign that the Apostle had relented any in his disaffection.
“Do you remember what I said about yours and Parley’s mission to Canada?”
Suddenly understanding dawned, and now Nathan’s voice was tinged with awe. “You said our mission would lead us to a people who had been prepared by the Lord for our coming. And then you said . . .” He stopped, trying to recall the exact words.
“I said that out of your mission the fulness of the gospel would spread into England and cause a great work to be done in that land.”
“Yes, but . . .” Nathan was confused now. “What has our mission got to do with your going to England?”
The Work and the Glory Page 124
