by Gale Sears
Vladimir turned to his people. “We are changed forever! We will never again be a people of superstition, a people worshipping lifeless, false gods. I declare to you that I will tithe my riches and build a church to the one great God in gratitude for my new life. A church where we may listen for His voice.”
The villagers stood for a long time looking at the grave of their god. Then insisting circumstance pulled them from the river’s edge to gather wood, tend to fires, and eat.
“What will this mean for them?” Vladimir asked as he watched them go. “What will this mean for them, and their children, and their children’s children on down through the passages of time?”
Anna took his hand. “It is as you said. They will be able to listen for the voice of the one true God.”
Vladimir nodded. “Come, let us go and break bread with our people.”
Notes
1. Prince Vladimir brought Christianity to Russia in 988 a.d., as the Slavic historian Nestor the Chronicler (1056–1114) records in the Povest’ vremennykh let (The Russian Primary Chronicle). In 996 a.d. Vladimir built the Church of the Tithes on the very mount which had formally been sacred to the pagan god Perun.
In 1037 Vladimir’s son, Yaroslav I, laid the foundation for the Saint Sophia (Holy Wisdom of God) Cathedral in Kiev, which still stands today.
Chapter One
St. Petersburg, Russia
August 6, 1903
“And Elder Bloom was thrown into prison for preaching the gospel?” Johannes Lindlof asked, walking with long strides to keep up with his father.
Johan Lindlof nodded at his son. “Yes. Sentenced to twenty-eight days on bread and water for baptizing my mother and another woman there in Helsinki.”
“But, that was Finland.”
“A republic of Russia, my son. A republic of Russia.”
“And why didn’t you join the Church at the time? You were twenty-six.”
“I wasn’t ready, Johannes. Perhaps I was a bit of a coward.”
Agnes Lindlof took her father’s hand. “You are not a coward.”
“Well, not now, but then . . . It was very dangerous to go against the state. A person was only supposed to see God one way.”
“I would have been thrown into prison for the gospel,” Oskar declared.
Johannes clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That’s because you’re a hothead.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Boys, no fighting,” their mother reminded. “We wouldn’t want to spoil this special day, now would we?” Alma Lindlof put her hands into the pockets of her light coat and turned to her husband. “Are you sure Brother Cannon said we were invited?”
“Yes,” Johan assured her.
“And all the children?”
“Yes.”
“And me in this condition?”
Johan gave his pregnant wife an understanding grin. “Yes, yes, and yes.” He shifted his two-year-old daughter, Alexandria, in his arms and turned to look at the rest of the children walking behind them. “See, Arel is taking care of little Bruno and Erland, and Agnes is never any trouble.”
Eight-year-old Agnes beamed up at her father and took her mother’s hand. “We’ll be good, Mommy. And if Erland starts to run about during the prayer, I’ll take him to the other side of the gardens.”
Alma Lindlof stopped on the Hermitage Bridge to catch her breath, and her family gathered around her.
“Are you all right, Alma?” Johan asked softly. “I should have had the carriage bring us all the way instead of dropping us at the Winter Palace.”
“Don’t be silly,” Alma said. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk along the river.” She placed a hand on her protruding abdomen. “I’m just tired. This child is very active.”
“Maybe you’re going to have another Erland,” Johannes teased. He knew he should have kept quiet the moment the words were out of his mouth, for on hearing his name, five-year-old Erland began jumping up and down.
“What about me? What about me? Is the new baby going to be like me?”
Johannes caught hold of his brother’s suit coat. “Erland, calm down. Sorry, Mother.”
Alma put her hand on Erland’s head and he stopped jumping. “It’s all right, Johannes. In truth, I would love to have another little boy just like our Erland.” She looked earnestly into the eyes of her five-year-old, and he smiled. “Would you like to hear a story while I rest?”
Erland’s head bobbed up and down.
Alma looked at each of her seven children. “Move closer.”
Agnes glanced around at the great number of people walking along the prospect: laughing, talking, and enjoying the sunshine. Agnes moved in with her brothers.
“I want to tell you of the miracle that happened the day your father and I were baptized.”
“June 11, 1895,” Johannes said.
Agnes smiled. She and her older brothers knew this story by heart. It was one of their favorites.
“Eight years ago, your father and I were baptized in the Neva River.”
Agnes leaned over the stone embankment to watch the water of the great river flow by. As her mother spoke of Elder August Hoglund coming all the way to St. Petersburg from the Swedish mission office, Agnes imagined the big man on the day of the baptism, rowing the wooden boat—rowing her father and mother up the river to find a quiet spot for the ordinance.
Alma Lindlof’s gentle voice brought Agnes’s thoughts back to the bridge. “There were many people out that day, crowding the river, the prospects, and the parks. We had to be careful for it was not a welcomed thing to join another church, but your father and I had spent several days being taught the gospel by Elder Hoglund, and we knew we wanted to be baptized.”
“But you couldn’t find a quiet spot,” Arel interjected.
“No, we couldn’t find a quiet spot.” Alma turned and pointed up the river. “Just about a half a mile up that way, Brother Hoglund decided we should row ashore and have a prayer. As soon as Brother Hoglund finished praying, we looked up and all the boats and people just seemed to drift away from the place we’d chosen for the baptism.”
“It was a miracle,” Arel said.
Johan Lindlof put his hand on Arel’s shoulder. “It was, son. We were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints with only nature and heaven looking on.”
“See, you were very brave, just like Grandmother,” Agnes said.
Her mother smiled at her.
“And now all of you will be part of another miracle,” Johan said. He looked over at Erland and Bruno who were picking up pebbles to throw into the river. “Erland! Bruno! Come here, please.”
The boys dropped the pebbles and came to their father’s side.
Johan took the moment to school his children. “Now, we are almost to the Summer Garden and I want to make sure you understand how important your manners will be today.”
“Father, you went through all of this at home,” thirteen-year-old Oskar stated frankly.
Johan looked at his son with raised eyebrows. “And I obviously need to go over it once again.”
Oskar reddened at the slight chastisement as his father continued. “Elder Francis Marion Lyman has traveled all the way from Salt Lake City, America. He is the European Mission President and an apostle of God. Imagine that . . . a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.” Alma interrupted by clearing her throat. “Johan, your instructions?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” He looked at his children who were being unusually quiet. “Anyway, Elder Lyman is an apostle of God and has come here to say a special prayer for our country.”
“Is he more important than the tsar?” Bruno asked. Although only seven, Bruno was captivated by the royal family and their splendor.
“Tsar Nicholas is important to Russia, and Elder Lyman is important to God,” Johan answered.
Bruno nodded as though that made perfect sense.
“Now, I do not know how long the prayer will take,” Johan continued, “but you must be perfectly still while the apostle is speaking. Do you understand?”
The children looked tentatively at each other, and then nodded.
“If you must move about,” Alma Lindlof said empathetically, “do it quietly. Just move away from the group and I’m sure no one will notice.”
“What if Alexandria cries?” Erland asked, making a face at his little sister who was held in his father’s arms.
Johan patted his daughter’s back. “She’s not going to cry. She’s a big girl now.”
The sun came out from behind a bank of clouds, transforming the Neva River from steel gray to sparkling blue. Johan took a deep breath. “Let’s be on our way. We don’t want to be late.”
The family started east again soon arriving at their destination.
Agnes ran her hand along the ironwork railing that enclosed the huge garden. “Daddy,” she said in a reverent tone, “do you think Peter the Great ever touched this railing?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Johan said, putting his hand on one of the massive granite columns which supported the grille work. “This was built long after Peter the Great died.”
“Oh,” Agnes said, disappointed.
“But I have a feeling the grand duchesses have run their hands along it.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Agnes drawled, quite sure that her father was teasing her.
“No, I’m sure of it. Do you think Tsarina Alexandra and Tsar Nicholas would not bring their girls here for a picnic?”
Agnes frowned at him. “Well . . . maybe.” She brightened. “And you truly think they’ve all touched this fence?”
“Well, perhaps not Anastasia,” he said, “she’d be too little. But I’m fairly sure Olga, Tatyana, and Marie have probably touched right where you’re touching.”
Agnes felt a thrill at the thought. She, like Bruno, was quite taken with the royal family, especially with all the beautiful grand duchesses about whom she could dream—imagining herself being invited to their country palace at Tsarskoe Selo for parties and pony rides.
“Agnes, pay attention,” she heard her father say, and she looked up abruptly. She had walked right past the gate her father was holding open for the family. She hurried back to join the others as they entered the glorious garden. It held an impressive magic which enchanted the children into awed silence. Thousands of stately maple and elm trees stood sentinel near wide pathways and throughout the grassy acres. The foliage of the trees created a shimmering canopy of light and shadow. A breeze blew through the leaves, and Agnes imagined she could hear Mother Russia whispering.
Johannes took Erland’s hand as the family walked the pathway to the central courtyard. Standing on the opposite side of the circular flowerbed were four men.
“Oh, look,” Alma whispered excitedly. “That must be them.”
“Isn’t Brother Cannon an editor at a British paper, Father?” Johannes asked.
“Yes, the LDS Millennial Star,” Johan answered.
As the Lindlofs approached the group, an older man in very American dress turned to look at them. He was stately and handsome with a well-trimmed beard and mustache. He had a high forehead, which spoke of intelligence, and his eyes held a look of earnestness and welcome. He didn’t wait for the family to arrive within the circle of the group; a broad smile lighting his features, he strode to Brother and Sister Lindlof, his hand outstretched. He took first Alma’s hand then Johan’s.
“My friends, my dear friends, I am Elder Lyman. What an honor it is to finally meet you, Brother and Sister Lindlof—indeed an honor. The first LDS saints in Russia.”
Johan was speechless. He was honored? Didn’t the man realize what an honor it was for them to be meeting one of the Lord’s apostles? Before Johan could find his voice, Elder Lyman continued.
“I understand that your interest in the Church came because of your mother, Brother Lindlof.”
“Yes, sir. She joined the Church in Finland.”
“Which is your birthplace.”
Johan nodded. “Yes, mine and Alma’s.” He took his wife’s hand. “Then, of course, Alma and I married and moved to St. Petersburg, where opportunities for plying my craft were better.”
“And I understand you are a respected merchant in the community . . . a gifted gold and silversmith?”
Johan brushed off the compliment. “I have a small shop here in the city.”
Brother Lyman smiled. “Well, I shall have to find a little treasure in your shop to take home to my wife. She has to carry on without me much of the time.”
Alma found her voice. “Truly, Elder Lyman, we are honored to have you in our country.”
The apostle gave a slight shake of his head, a kind grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I am just a busy servant, Sister Lindlof.” His energy was infectious as he guided them back to the group. “Now come, we all want to meet your stalwart family.”
The others in the company smiled as they drew near. Elder Lyman made the introductions. “You have already met Brother Cannon, Brother Lindlof, as I sent him to your shop with the invitation, and these two fine gentlemen—Elder Crismon and Elder Horne—are missionaries in Germany! They have been to Christiania, Norway, and Stockholm, Sweden, and are now in St. Petersburg for a few days. Gentlemen, may I introduce Brother and Sister Lindlof.”
“First Latter-day Saints in Russia,” Brother Cannon interjected, vigorously shaking Brother Lindlof’s hand. “My, my, my . . . imagine. And the gospel shall go out to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people.”
Elder Lyman laughed and clapped his traveling companion on the back. “The Lord is aware of all His children, Brother Cannon. He surely is!”
After everyone shook hands with Alma and Johan, Elder Lyman addressed Brother Lindlof in a gentle tone. “And now Brother Lindlof, if you would be so kind to introduce your dear children, I am anxious to make their acquaintance. Do they all speak English?”
“Yes, we’ve taught them several languages. The little ones know only a few words of English, but they can understand, and we can translate.”
Elder Lyman smiled. “I would speak to them in Russian, but I know only a few words, and I’m sure my pronunciation is dreadful.”
Johan motioned to Johannes. “This is our oldest child, Johannes. He is fifteen and helps me in the shop.”
Elder Lyman took the young man’s hand. “How do you do, Johannes? Are you keeping true to the faith?”
Johannes’s eyes filled with tears. “I am, sir.”
Elder Lyman nodded. “Yes, you are. I can tell. Wonderful. I will pray for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Elder Lyman started to move away, then stopped. He stood quietly for a moment, returning to Johannes’s side. He looked searchingly into the young man’s eyes. “Fifteen, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“About the same age as the boy Joseph when he received the First Vision.”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I tell you something, Johannes?”
Johannes nodded, overwhelmed that an apostle of God would be standing there sharing stories with a young man of no significance.
Elder Lyman placed his hand on Johannes’s shoulder. “My father, Amasa Lyman, knew the Prophet Joseph Smith very well. In fact, they were good friends. All the years of my father’s life, though he had some sore spiritual trials, he always defended the Prophet Joseph’s character. I remember him saying on many occasions that Joseph was one of the best men he’d ever known. I believe what my father said.”
Johannes nodded.
&nbs
p; Elder Lyman’s voice took on a soft intensity. “I also want you to know that I have my own firm testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Restoration of the gospel. The year before he was murdered, Joseph had been inspired by the Lord to send missionaries to this great country. He saw the empire of Russia in vision, and he appointed Elder Orson Hyde and Elder George Adams to that great calling. These dedicated men were preparing to leave in June of 1844 . . . and then . . . the Prophet was murdered.” Elder Lyman hesitated, working to regain his composure. “The Prophet Joseph was a good man who died a martyr for the truth. To his last breath he held firm to what he knew was right.”
The entire company felt the power of the Spirit as the words were spoken, but Johannes felt them seared into his heart.
“Will you remember what I’ve said to you, Johannes?”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
Elder Lyman moved away to meet the next boys.
Brother Lindlof’s voice was husky with emotion as he introduced Oskar and Arel.
“And they’ve been baptized?” Elder Lyman asked kindly.
“Yes, several years ago when Brother Anderson came for a visit from the mission office.”
Agnes stepped forward.
“And this is our daughter, Agnes.”
Elder Lyman took both her hands with his. “Dear sweet Agnes, in the middle of all these brothers.”
Agnes giggled. “Yes, sir.” She felt very comfortable in the big man’s presence. “I’m eight and a half, but I haven’t been baptized yet.”
Elder Lyman smiled. “Oh, no? Well, we might have to take care of that before I leave.”
Agnes looked over excitedly at her mother and saw a tear roll down her cheek.
Bruno, Erland, and Alexandria were introduced next. Bruno seemed impressed at meeting someone important, Erland didn’t run around, and Alexandria didn’t cry—even when Elder Lyman asked to hold her. He turned to talk with the group.
