The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I wanted to.” She stood and came to him, putting her head against his chest. She was in her night robe and dress, and her hair was let down for sleeping. “How is Vilate?”

  “Being brave.”

  “But having a difficult time?”

  “Yes. But she’s a good woman. She’ll be fine.”

  “I know.” She stepped back. “Do you want something to eat before you go to bed? Some bread and milk maybe?”

  He shook his head. “I’d fall asleep over the table.”

  She took his hand. “Come on, then. Let’s get you in bed.”

  They went upstairs. She slipped into bed, sitting up against the pillow, and watched him remove his boots in the darkness. As he stood and went to the basin of water to wash his face, she spoke. “Ben?”

  He half turned.

  “Joseph is worse.”

  He straightened slowly. “Worse than this morning? The missionaries wanted to bid him farewell, so we saw him for a minute. He wasn’t good.”

  “Did you talk to him at all?”

  “Not really. He wasn’t even able to raise his head off the pillow to say good-bye to Heber and the brethren.”

  “Emma says he’s been in excruciating pain all afternoon.”

  “Still no idea what it is?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  There was silence again for several moments. Then, “Ben?”

  “What?”

  “You need to go see him, Ben.”

  There was no answer.

  “Whatever else your feelings are, Ben, you need to go see him. You owe him that much.”

  He reached for a towel and dried his face. Finally he sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

  Just before Benjamin turned in at Joseph’s gate, the door to the house opened. Doctor Levi Richards, older brother to Willard Richards, stepped out onto the porch. His back was still to Benjamin as he spoke to someone in the house. Benjamin slowed his step. Finally, Richards turned and the door shut behind him. Benjamin met him just as he reached the front gate.

  “Good afternoon, Brother Steed.”

  “Good afternoon, Brother Richards. How is Joseph doing?”

  He blew out his breath and shook his head. “Not good.”

  “Any idea what’s ailing him?”

  The doctor shook his head. “It came on as sudden as a thunderclap.”

  Benjamin looked away, remembering John Boynton’s gleeful response to that news and his diagnosis of the reason for Joseph’s sickness. A curse from Warren Parrish, they were claiming.

  “But Joseph has asked me to come both as doctor and priesthood holder,” Richards continued. “I’ve laid my hands on him and blessed him. And, at his request, I have nursed him with some herbs and mild food. Don’t know what more I can do for him now.”

  “Is he—” He stopped. “Someone said he was near death.”

  “Good heavens, no. At least I don’t think so. He’s a very sick man, but he’s got a strong constitution.”

  “Thank you.” Benjamin shook hands with him, then walked on past the gate and down the street, not looking back.

  * * *

  Benjamin walked the streets of Kirtland for nearly an hour, arguing with himself. If Joseph was that sick, he would not be up to visitors. He certainly hadn’t been yesterday. Perhaps tomorrow he’d be better. And yet Mary Ann’s words kept echoing in his mind. “You owe him that much.”

  He knew she was right. He just wasn’t ready to face Joseph yet. He wanted to silence the questions first—the questions that had been haunting him now for months. The questions that Martin Harris and his friends were so sure they had already answered.

  He swatted at nothing in the air in front of him, disgusted at himself for even listening to them. That’s what irritated him so greatly about those who had turned against Joseph. They were so certain they had all the answers. They weren’t questioning anything anymore, except how to get Joseph out. And yet he couldn’t totally dismiss them either. Some of their reasoning was persuasive. Too persuasive!

  As he always did when he reached this point in the dizzying spiral of his thoughts, Benjamin backed away. This part always shook him. For if Martin Harris and the others were right, then a whole new set of questions loomed before Benjamin Steed. And those questions were truly frightening. They not only struck at the very core of his own testimony but also threatened the entire fabric of his family life. And that left him feeling very cold and very alone.

  He looked up. He was approaching the temple again. That meant that a block beyond that he would be to Joseph’s home again. He stopped and started to turn, then stopped again. “Whatever else your feelings are, Ben, you owe him that much.”

  Suddenly he made up his mind. There would be no more vacillating. No more wandering the streets like a lost mongrel dog. “You owe him that much.” “Yes, I do,” he said aloud. He started walking swiftly northward, past the temple. He crossed the street, and this time when he reached Joseph’s gate he turned in. Not allowing even so much as a moment’s hesitation, he strode up to the door and knocked firmly.

  There were footsteps inside, and then the door opened. It was Emma.

  For a moment she blinked into the sun, which was behind Benjamin, then she smiled. “Why, Father Steed, how good to see you. Come in.”

  “I’ve come to inquire about Joseph. Perhaps see him, if he’s up to receiving visitors. If not—”

  Smiling even more broadly, she took his elbow. “Please do come in. If you had come two hours ago, I would have turned you away, but now . . .” She shut the door behind him.

  Benjamin’s eyes widened slightly. “He’s better?”

  “Come and see.”

  Joseph was propped up in his bed, a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants open on his lap. When the door to the bedroom opened and Benjamin stepped in, his face was instantly wreathed in smiles. “Why, Brother Benjamin, what a pleasant surprise.” He started to get up.

  Benjamin hurried quickly across the room. “No, don’t get up, Joseph.” He stopped as Joseph reached out and took his hand. He couldn’t help staring. Joseph’s color was good, his eyes had life in them, his grip was strong and firm. He couldn’t believe it was the same man he had seen the day before.

  Joseph saw the look and laughed heartily. “A little different than yesterday, eh?”

  Benjamin nodded.

  “Truly said. I am a new man. Doctor Richards was in this afternoon and attended to me with all tenderness and good will, and almost immediately the disease turned.” He slapped his stomach. “Now look at me. I am still weak, but I can’t believe the change in me.”

  Benjamin reached out for the wooden chair beside the bed. He pulled it to him and sat down slowly. So much for the idea that Joseph was cursed for his “transgressions.”

  Joseph seemed to discern his thoughts. “This should put down some of the rumors that are going about town, I’d say. Wouldn’t you?”

  Benjamin nodded in wonder. “I certainly would say.”

  Joseph’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Some of the brethren are going to have to put their black suits away. There’s not going to be any funeral tomorrow that I know of.”

  Benjamin gave a short laugh, thinking about John Boynton. Then the more he thought about Joseph’s remarks, the more amused he became. “And who’s going to pay the undertaker?” he chortled. “Warren Parrish?”

  Joseph roared at that. That was about the only thing they hadn’t done—built the coffin and hired the undertaker.

  They chatted for nearly an hour. Twice Benjamin made as though he were going to leave, but Joseph insisted that he stay. He fired questions at him concerning the group’s trip to Fairport. Who had gone? Did they get on the steamer all right? How was Vilate holding up? Wasn’t that Mary Fielding a wonderful woman? Too bad she wasn’t married. The Fieldings were good blood. Through it all, Benjamin marveled. This was the old Joseph. Though still showing some
signs of having been seriously ill, he had his old vitality, seeming as though he would bounce right off the bed at times. Twice he laughed so loudly at something Benjamin said that Emma stuck her head in and gave them both stern looks—which only caused Joseph to beam all the more broadly.

  Finally, Benjamin stood. “I really have to be going, Joseph. And you need to rest. Even if you are doing better, you shouldn’t overdo.”

  “I know, I know,” Joseph boomed cheerfully. The smile faded, and he grew suddenly earnest. “It was so good of you to stop by, Benjamin. I mean that. It’s been wonderful to talk with you.”

  “It has been for me too.”

  Joseph gave him a sharp look. “I was beginning to fear that my old friend Benjamin Steed was starting to have doubts about Joseph too.”

  Benjamin couldn’t keep a startled look from crossing his face. Then instantly he looked away, not able to meet those piercing, searching eyes. Joseph reached out and patted the chair seat. “Come on, Benjamin. Sit down. Now let’s really talk.”

  * * *

  “That really doesn’t help much, does it, Ben?”

  Benjamin let out his breath slowly, then finally looked Joseph right in the eye. “If you tell me you never prophesied that the Kirtland Safety Society would not fail, I believe you.”

  “Well, I didn’t. I did say that if we would live by the principles God had established, the bank and our other financial efforts would prosper. And I still believe that to be the case. Had we only . . .” He raised his shoulders in a sign of resignation. “But we didn’t, did we? Even now in the midst of disaster there are some who cannot see the connection between their actions and what is happening.” He sighed. “That’s why I resigned. I cannot countenance their actions any longer. I don’t want them using my name to make people think that I do.”

  Benjamin shook his head in frustration. “But your leaving takes away the last confidence anyone has in the bank. There is no hope for it now.”

  Joseph looked at him sadly. “You really think I can save it now, Benjamin?”

  For a moment he considered that, then finally shook his head. “No.”

  “What I feel most terrible about is that people—good people like you and Mary Ann—are going to lose a lot of money.”

  Benjamin looked away. “We already have.”

  Joseph nodded slowly. “I know. Would it help if I tell you that I have lost heavily too?”

  With a start, Benjamin remembered a conversation he and Joseph and Hyrum had had some months previous to this. “The funds you borrowed?”

  Joseph’s head bobbed once. “Gone.”

  Now Benjamin was understanding something else. “That’s why you’ve been trying to sell off your land, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. The loans are overdue.”

  “Will you get enough to pay them off?”

  “Not completely.” It was said without rancor or bitterness.

  Benjamin leaned back. Some of the brethren were saying that Joseph was selling off his land because he was trying to capitalize on other’s misfortunes. But wasn’t that how it always was? Twist the truth, shave off the corners here and there, then sell it as though it were clear and unvarnished reality.

  Joseph cleared his throat. “I want to say something, Ben, but before I do I want you to know that you haven’t been a murmurer. You haven’t gone around whispering behind my back, making false accusations to everyone about me. The fact that you’re here, asking me these questions straight to my face . . .” He nodded, the appreciation clearly written in his eyes.

  “That isn’t my way,” Benjamin mumbled.

  “I know. And I thank you for that. More than you know.” He adjusted the covers across his legs for a moment. “But I want to teach you a principle, Benjamin. It is one of the keys to the mysteries of the kingdom. It is an eternal principle that has existed with God from all eternity.”

  “What is it?”

  Now Joseph looked at him fully, the wide blue eyes filled with solemnity. “That man who rises up to condemn others, finding fault with the Church, saying that the leaders are out of the way while he himself is righteous, then know most assuredly that that man is on the high road to apostasy. And if he does not repent, he will apostatize, as surely as God lives.”

  Benjamin felt a chill run across his back. He had never seen Joseph so grave.

  “And it matters not if that man has seen angels, or if he sits in the highest councils of the Church. The principle is still true.”

  Benjamin nodded slowly. Martin Harris and the others thought they were being so secretive, meeting at night behind closed doors, swearing others to silence. But Joseph knew. Benjamin felt a stab of shame. If Joseph knew that, he probably also knew that while Benjamin maybe hadn’t joined them, neither had he rejected them.

  Joseph was watching him closely. “Now, the Lord doesn’t say that because his servants are so tender they can’t handle a few lumps. You’ve known me for a long time, Ben. You’re one of the few from the old Palmyra days. Criticism, ridicule, mockery—they’ve been my lot since that day I came out of the woods in the spring of 1820. A man can’t be much of a prophet unless he’s got a pretty thick skin.”

  “I can see that.”

  “It’s not his servants God is trying to protect with this principle. There is something about murmuring that kills the Spirit of God. It was true of the Israelites. It was true of Laman and Lemuel in the Book of Mormon. You cannot turn against God’s anointed without it grieving the Spirit.”

  Joseph was musing now. “It’s not so much that God cuts off the murmurer; it’s that the murmurer cuts himself off from God.” For several moments the room was quiet, both men lost in their thoughts. Then Joseph finally turned back to face Benjamin. “There’s something else I want to say to you, Ben.”

  “I’m listening, Joseph.” And with a start, Benjamin realized he really meant it. He was listening now. Finally.

  “Do you remember that meeting we held just prior to the departure of Zion’s Camp, in which Brigham and his brother Joseph Young were concerned about whether or not Joseph should accompany us?”

  “Yes. I remember it well. You promised them that if they would go, and follow your counsel, not a hair of their heads would be harmed.”

  “Yes, and what else, Benjamin?”

  The memories of that meeting were still vivid in his mind. He and Nathan had been sitting side by side and had stared at each other in amazement at what followed. He looked into Joseph’s face. “Then you startled every one of us by talking about the Church going to the Rocky Mountains.”

  A tiny smile played around the corners of Joseph’s mouth. “Actually I startled myself a little when I said that. But the statement about the Rocky Mountains was only part of what I said that night. I said something about the destiny of the Church.”

  “You said that we knew no more about its destiny than a baby in its mother’s lap.” The memories were coming back sharply now. “You said that although we were only a little handful of priesthood brethren gathered there that night, the time was coming when the Church would fill North and South America and the whole world. You said there would be tens of thousands of Saints in the Rocky Mountains and that that would open up the way for the gospel to go to the Lamanites.”

  “That’s exactly right, Benjamin.” Joseph sighed. “It is hard to imagine now, isn’t it? But that is our destiny.”

  Suddenly he pulled himself up into a full sitting position, leaning forward to peer at Benjamin intently. “Satan understands that destiny as clearly as I. And that causes him to rage, for when the kingdom fills the earth it will signal his final defeat.” Now his voice took on a strange and powerful tone. “But let him rage. Let him bellow and roar and gnash his teeth. Let him stir up the hearts of wicked men against us. Even let him turn the hearts of those who have been faithful, those who sit in some of the highest quorums in the Church. It will not deter us from our destiny, Benjamin.” He paused, his chest rising and falling now with the
intensity of his words. “It will not. Indeed, it cannot! The Lord has his work, and no unhallowed hand can stay the hand of the Lord.”

  He leaned back against the pillow, as if the effort of sitting up had suddenly drained him. “You know Brother Ebenezer Robinson, don’t you?”

  Benjamin nodded.

  “He visited me a while back and made a most interesting comment. We were speaking of these gloomy days. He said he knew that the gospel was true and that truth and righteousness will ultimately prevail.”

  Benjamin nodded again. “Yes, ultimately it will.”

  “That’s right,” Joseph burst out fiercely. “The gospel will prevail, Benjamin! I’m not just talking about gospel principles. They will always remain true and endure. I’m talking about the Church, Ben. God’s kingdom on the earth. He didn’t restore it to the earth to have it undone by men like Warren Parrish. This church will not fall! As surely as God exists, God’s work—his church, his priesthood, his gospel—will triumph!”

  Slowly the fire in him died, and he looked at Benjamin with some sadness in his eyes. “But all of this doesn’t help you much, does it, Ben? It doesn’t really get at what’s eating away down inside you.”

  Once again Benjamin was a little taken aback by this man’s perceptiveness. “It helps,” he said lamely.

  Joseph chuckled. “Bless you, Brother Benjamin. You make a terrible hypocrite.”

  Benjamin wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he looked away. Joseph reached down to the foot of the bed and retrieved the copy of the Doctrine and Covenants from where he had tossed it when Benjamin had first come in to see him. He opened it up to a place about midway through the book, turned a page or two, then finally looked up. “I’d like to read you something.” He let his finger run quickly across the page, then began. “‘Although a man may have many revelations, and have power to do many mighty works, yet, if he boasts in his own strength, and sets at nought the counsels of God, and follows after the dictates of his own will, and carnal desires, he must fall and incur the vengeance of a just God upon him.’”

  Joseph’s eyes raised, and a sad and wistful smile pulled around the corners of his mouth. “Do you know who the Lord was speaking to there?”