She looked shocked. “I’ve never known you to be ridiculous before, Will. I don’t know if I can handle this.”
He tried to frown at her, pretending severity, but couldn’t hold it and laughed instead, shaking his head helplessly. This was what made their friendship so delightful. They were as at ease with each other as brother and sister. “Just listen, Miss Samuelson,” he growled. “If you can stop poking fun at me for a minute or two, I’ll continue.”
“Sorry,” she said meekly.
“All right. Let’s suppose that whether you go to heaven or hell is determined by a set number of sins you commit in this life.”
“It seems like the Bible says something similar to that.”
“I know, but let’s suppose that it was a very precise number. Let’s suppose that to get into heaven you have to have less than . . . oh, let’s say less than five hundred sins.”
“Whoa!” she cried, “for us sinners, couldn’t you raise the total a little higher than that?”
“Sorry, five hundred is the cutoff point.” Smiling, he went on. “So if you have less than five hundred, it’s heaven. Five hundred or more, it’s hell, all right?”
“It’s going to be crowded down there,” she observed, nodding her head.
“Now, here’s my point. Alice Samuelson has only ten sins and so it’s a sure thing she’ll make it through the gates of heaven.”
She inclined her head slightly. “I like that. Thank you.”
“But let’s say that someone else—say, your father—has four hundred and ninety-nine sins.”
She giggled a little. “I don’t think you ought to share this analogy with my father.”
“Remember, I told you I was being ridiculous to make my point. So, your father gets to go into heaven with you.”
“Good.”
“And Will Steed? Well, he has exactly five hundred sins, so he misses the mark and is sent to spend an eternity in hell.”
“Perhaps there’ll be visiting privileges and I could bring you a cool drink every hundred years or so.”
“Come on, Alice,” he said, laughing aloud, “this is serious theology here.”
“Of course,” she answered, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you think that’s fair? That your father, with only one less sin than me, gets to go to heaven while I’m consigned to the lower regions? Or that someone with only a few sins goes to the same place as someone with quite a few?”
Now the teasing humor was gone from her eyes and she was considering his question. “In a way, I guess not. But there has to be a dividing point somewhere.”
“Ah,” he said, pleased to see he had her thinking now. “Or dividing points,” he corrected her.
She leaned back a little, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Well,” she finally said, speaking slowly and with a touch of tentativeness in her voice, “as long as God is making the judgment, then it would have to be fair, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course, whatever God does is right,” he agreed, “but we also know that God is a just God. Do you think that’s just? That with all the diversity in human behavior he would have only two places to send us?”
“Well, I . . .” She shrugged. “If that’s the way he set things up, then it has to be fair.”
“Exactly the point. We don’t believe that is the way God set things up. Joseph Smith once asked a question about whether that was the way things would be after we die, and learned some wonderful things.”
“But heaven and hell are all the Bible talks about.”
“I could show you some things in the Bible that might change your mind about that. For example, Paul taught the Corinthians that in the resurrection some will get celestial bodies and some will get terrestrial bodies. But that’s not my point here. My point is that there are other possibilities.”
As he paused for breath, she was watching him closely, head cocked to one side, clearly amused by his earnestness. “Will, all I wanted to know was why you’re putting sun stones on your temple.”
“I know,” he said sheepishly. “Mother says I always do this, get carried away. But believe it or not, I am trying to answer your question.”
“Okay, go on, then.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “‘O.K.’? What does that mean?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard that expression before? Okay means ‘all right,’ or ‘that’s correct.’”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Didn’t you know? President Van Buren used it in the last presidential election campaign. I don’t know how it got started, but okay means ‘yes,’ or ‘all right,’ or ‘that’s good.’”
“Oh.” He smiled. “Okay.” Then he got serious again. “One day while Joseph Smith was reading in the Bible, he was struck with the problem I’ve just described. He wondered how it could be just to send people to either heaven or hell. He went to the Lord in prayer and asked him about it. In answer, he was shown a vision of life after death, and he saw that there were different kingdoms, and that they differed in the glory each had.”
“Different kingdoms?”
Now he leaned forward, the eagerness putting vibrancy into his words. “He saw that there are differing degrees of reward in the next life. And this is what Paul said too. Read the fifteenth chapter of First Corinthians some day. One kingdom is called the celestial degree—that is the highest degree, and people who are righteous go there. Another kingdom is called the terrestrial kingdom. This is not hell as we normally think of it. Good people go there, people who are decent and kind and honest, but who did not really care for religion. They may have been good, but they weren’t valiant in their faith. The third place is called the telestial degree of glory, or the telestial kingdom. Here those that were the wicked while on the earth go—the liars and adulterers, whoremongers and murderers. But even within that kingdom, people differ, depending on how they lived here.”
He was tempted to say more, but decided that was enough for one day. “Anyway, that’s why the different stones on the temple. They represent those different degrees of glory. We believe that in the temple we will be given the ordinances that help us achieve the fulness of the celestial kingdom.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, but let her eyes sweep across the great walls that towered above them. Finally, she looked at him, and to his surprise, he could see she was flustered a little. “Can I ask you a question about your religion?”
“Sure.”
“Is it true that Joseph Smith taught that God expects a man to have more than one wife?”
The question was not totally unexpected, and he had thought a lot about how best to answer her if and when she asked it. “Not exactly,” he responded.
“Not exactly?” she exclaimed. “What kind of an answer is that?”
“Well, the way you stated the question is not true. Joseph Smith did not teach that God expects every man to have more than one wife. But he has taught that having more than one wife, when God commands it, is not wrong.”
The frown was so deep that Will wanted to reach out and touch the spot between her eyes that had furrowed into great wrinkles. Instead he went on quickly. “Do you remember what Paul once said to the Corinthians? He said, ‘I have fed you with milk and not with meat because you are not able to bear it now.’”
“Well, thanks a lot,” she said, for the first time sounding irritated.
“No, I don’t mean it that way, Alice. I . . . I’m just saying that trying to understand whether or not Joseph was right in restoring the practice of plural marriage—I say ‘restoring’ because, as you know, the great prophets and patriarchs of the Old Testament had more than one wife. But anyway, starting with that question is like asking a young child to eat a steak. If you really want to know if Joseph was a prophet, there are other places to start.”
She was still frowning at him, so he rushed on. “I’m really not trying to put you off, Alice, I’m just saying, if you really want to know about these things, ev
en plural marriage, then start with something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like reading the Book of Mormon. Like praying and asking God if the Church is true, if it really is his church.”
She considered that, her eyes thoughtful.
Will wanted to close in, push her for a commitment, get her to accept a Book of Mormon. Suddenly, and inexplicably, he wanted that very much. But wisdom quietly whispered to wait. So he did.
“I’d like to think about it,” she said after a time.
“Fair enough.” He stood, took her by the hands, and pulled her to her feet. As she came up, she was facing him fully, her face close to his. As he looked down at her, he suddenly had a great urge to kiss her. It caught him so totally by surprise that he let go of her hands and fell back a step.
Alice’s eyes widened. Then slowly that enigmatic smile of hers stole across her face. “Why, Will Steed,” she exclaimed, “I do believe you’re blushing.”
That only flustered him all the more, and he just shook his head.
Now the smile broadened and her eyes were suddenly very soft. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Will.”
“But I didn’t say anything,” he blurted.
“Exactly,” she answered. Then, putting her arm through his, she moved toward the street. “What else do you have in this town of yours to show me?”
Chapter Notes
The situation in Hancock County as described here by Walter Samuelson is an accurate portrayal of what was happening in the aftermath of the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum (see HC 7:1–60).
There is probably no Americanism that passed so quickly into common use as the word okay. The first documented use of O.K. as an adjective was in 1839 in a Boston newspaper, which suggested that something was O.K., or “all correct.” It was common practice of nineteenth-century humorists to deliberately misspell common words, and O.K. seems to have come from the misspelling of the phrase “all correct” as “oll korrect.” The phrase might have passed into oblivion had it not been that in 1840 the Tammany Democratic Party of New York started “O.K. Clubs” to support Martin Van Buren, their candidate, who was nicknamed “Old Kinderhook,” since he was born in Kinderhook, New York. The idea was that Old Kinderhook was O.K. or “oll korrect.” Whatever its precise beginnings, the initials caught on in the minds of the public and quickly became the word okay, a common expression all across America. Eventually it became an almost universal expression and can be heard virtually in every country of the world today. (See The Merriam-Webster New Book of Word Histories [Springfield, Mass.: Merriam-Webster, 1991], pp. 329–30.)
Chapter 5
They were walking east along Water Street, coming toward the intersection with Main Street. The evening air was warm but pleasant. The mosquitoes were out, but there was a breeze out of the west strong enough to keep them down to the point where they weren’t unbearable.
Will pointed to the large log cabin that they were approaching on their right. “That’s called the Homestead. That’s where Joseph Smith lived when they first came to Nauvoo—or Commerce, as it was known then.”
“Really,” Alice said. “That’s quite a nice home.”
“Well, they added some of it after coming here. Joseph’s mother lived with them for a time.”
“And now they’re in the—” She stopped, pointing toward the large two-story frame home on the opposite corner. “What do you call it?”
“The Mansion House.”
“Yes, that is a beautiful home.”
“Joseph planned it partially as a hotel. He had many visitors and guests.”
“Lydia said that Emma has sold it.”
“Actually, Joseph sold it to a man with the idea that he would rent some rooms back from him. But I heard the other day that Emma is thinking of moving out of the Mansion House and back to the Homestead again. She just doesn’t have enough money to stay there.”
They had reached the intersection now and stopped on the corner. To their left, directly east of the Homestead and south of the Mansion House, a large building was under construction. It sat right on the waterfront, just a few rods from the boat landing. “And what is that going to be?” Alice asked.
“We call that the Nauvoo House. It’s going to be a hotel.”
“A nice one.”
“Yes.” He smiled a little. “Us country bumpkins have managed to bring in one or two improvements.”
She laughed softly, looking up at him. “I should never have teased you about Nauvoo.”
“Why not? The scriptures say that pride goeth before destruction.”
She slapped at him. “I beg your pardon.” Then she sobered. “Actually, Will, I love Nauvoo. It’s so open and airy. The streets are so wide and so straight. You always know exactly where you are. That’s hardly what St. Louis is like.”
“You think St. Louis is bad, you ought to see the cities in China or England.”
“I would love to someday.” And then she looked at him more closely. “Do you ever think about going to sea again?”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Often.”
“But?” She smiled, not wanting to pry into his personal feelings and yet wanting to know.
If he minded, he didn’t show it. “But I think my destiny, my mission in life, if you will, lies elsewhere. Here, with my family and our people.”
She nodded, noting the faraway look in his eyes and the touch of sadness around his mouth. After a moment, she spoke again. “I’m going to miss being here, Will.”
He came back to her. “It’s been wonderful to have you here this week. You’ll have to tell your father to bring you with him the next time he comes.”
“Or you could come down to St. Louis with your father,” she said hopefully.
“I will.”
After a moment, she looked back up at him. “Will?” she said shyly.
He looked down at her. “What?”
“I’ve decided I’d like to do what you suggested.”
“What is that?”
“I’d like to read about your church.”
His expression was so startled that she laughed aloud. “Well, is it that shocking?”
“No, but . . . I was just . . .” He had to stop, and she laughed the more at his confusion. “You never said anything more and I . . .” Now he got a sly smile. He turned away from her and fumbled around in his shirt. In a moment, he turned back. In his hand there was a Book of Mormon. He held it out to her. “This is for you.”
She took it, looked at it, then gave him a strange look. “How did you know I would—”
“I didn’t. I brought this along hoping I could find a way to ask you if you would consider taking it back with you.”
Her head bobbed. “Thank you, Will. I will read it.”
He took it back from her for a moment and opened it to the very end of the book. He held it up to the pale moonlight, and she could see he had bracketed one part of the page with a pen. “Read this first.”
“All right.” She took the book back and tried to see what it said, but the moon was down to less than three-quarters now and there was not enough light to see the words. “Thank you again.” And then she had a thought. “Will, maybe it’s better if you don’t say anything about this to my father.”
There was a soft hoot. “I hadn’t planned on it.” He took out a pocket watch and held it up to the light. “Well, I suppose I’d better get you back. I wouldn’t want your father and mine to come looking for us.”
She didn’t move. “Thank you for a wonderful week, Will.”
“Thank you for coming.”
They stood there for a moment, awkwardly, and then Alice reached out and took his hand. “We’d better start back,” she said.
“Yes,” Will agreed, squeezing her hand and keeping it in his. “I suppose we’d better.”
Mary Ann was in the backyard of their home, taking down the clothes that she had washe
d and hung out this morning. She moved methodically, not minding the heat of the afternoon but also not moving too quickly. She took down a blouse, then pressed it against her face. She loved the smell of newly washed clothes, dried in the sun.
She half turned as she heard the gate at the front of the house give its customary creak. From here, the house blocked her view of the front yard, so she listened carefully as she folded the blouse to see if someone knocked on the front door or if it was just one of the grandchildren going in and out. To her surprise, a moment later Benjamin came around the house, followed closely by Nathan and Lydia. She laid the folded blouse in the basket, then turned to greet them. At the look on Lydia’s face, she stopped.
Lydia came forward and took her hands. “Mother Steed, it’s Samuel Smith.”
She felt a sudden lurch, pain down deep inside her. “No,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Benjamin said, coming to put an arm around her shoulder. “He passed away earlier today.”
She wanted to sink to the ground. Instead, she squeezed Lydia’s hands. “We’d best go see Mother Smith,” she said softly. “See if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“After all she has lost,” Benjamin said, “now to lose another son.”
Nathan raised his head slowly. “How much can one mother be expected to bear?”
“There it is! I see it! I see it!” Sarah Rogers started jumping up and down, pointing over the railing of the Natchez Queen. “That’s Nauvoo, isn’t it, Mama? Isn’t it?”
Melissa smiled at her daughter. “Yes, Sarah, that’s Nauvoo.”
Sarah would be six in November, and usually her two older brothers—Caleb, who was nearly eight, and David, who was going on ten—didn’t put much stock in anything she had to say. But now they pushed forward, in between their parents. “Where? Where?”
“On the hill. There. See it?”
Caleb squinted. It was barely past noon and the sun was high, glinting off the river and leaving the air gray blue with the haze. “I don’t see anything,” he said in disgust.
Carl leaned over and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Look, Caleb. See where the river turns to the left up ahead of us? That’s where the city is.”
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