Authors: Michael Wallace
The bishop was not present now, but the prophet and the Quorum of the Twelve sat in chairs around the table. There was Brother Joseph, with his beehive-handled cane, and Jacob’s Grandpa Griggs—make that
Elder
Griggs in this room, at least—Jacob’s father, the younger members and old. Allies, long-time rivals. Everyone.
Men had loosened their ties, and empty or half-empty water cups sat around the table. Some men had notebooks, others open scriptures, as if they had been consulting specific verses.
And here came Jacob into the middle of their meeting. He felt like a boy, and a dirty, underdressed one at that. The other men wore suits and ties while he wore jeans and a gray, button-down shirt. His boots were dirty and scuffed.
Abraham Christianson rose first, extended his hand and clapped him in a hug. As he did, he whispered, “Be sharp.”
The other men rose and they shook his hand one by one. Some, mainly his father’s friends, but also the prophet, greeted him warmly and by his first name. Others, with a terse, “Brother Christianson.” To his surprise, there was little hostility from Elder Kimball, though the man sat as far from Abraham Christianson as possible.
His father directed Jacob to the empty seat. Jacob sat, uncomfortable. The men settled down and the prophet addressed him.
“Let me get right to the point. Do you know the identity of the murderer?” Brother Joseph asked.
“Not yet, but I’m drawing close.” He arranged details in his mind as he considered how to reveal what he’d learned without giving away too much. Especially since a prime suspect sat in this very room.
“And your preliminary analysis?”
“The killer himself was most likely one of the Lost Boys,” he said. “He might have had inside help.” He watched Elder Kimball from the corner of his eye. The man looked uncomfortable.
“I’m going to be blunt, Jacob,” Brother Joseph said. He clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “Your work in this matter has been invaluable. And I think you should move forward until you’ve found the killer and he can be brought to justice.” He hesitated. “But not now.”
The news drew him short. “Not now? You want me to drop everything?”
“Not permanently. Maybe later, we can take a fresh look. Now, if you say a Lost Boy did it, then fine, we’ll tell the Saints to be on the lookout for anyone who doesn’t belong in Blister Creek.”
Right, except the Lost Boys had shown their ability to move about town with impunity. Someone was harboring these men. And for all their beliefs in the Kingdom of God on earth, what would they do if they found a Lost Boy in town? This was America, after all, and you couldn’t ban someone from a public street. The only tool was shunning, and what good was that with murderers?
Jacob looked at his father, surprised. He’d thought that Father, at least, would insist that the investigation continue. And Elder Pratt, Amanda’s father. Not to mention Brother Joseph, her uncle, and the spiritual father of every man, woman, and child in Zion. Few looked pleased at this turn of events, but not a single man voiced disagreement.
“The problem is,” the prophet continued, “your arrival stirred things up in Blister Creek.”
“It wasn’t my arrival that stirred things up. It was the murder of Amanda Kimball.”
“Jacob,” his father warned.
“It’s okay, Elder Christianson,” Brother Joseph said. He turned back to Jacob. “You’re right. It’s not your fault. And we’re not stopping you forever, just for now. Later, when we’ve resolved other matters, you can continue your investigation.”
He still couldn’t believe it. “And you’re serious?”
“I’m afraid so, Jacob,” Brother Joseph said.
Jacob stared for a long moment, then unclenched his teeth long enough to say, “Thou sayest.”
He said the words, but he didn’t mean them. He would defy them in private. They left him no choice. And then, when he had his evidence, he would present it. It would be too late to stop him. He glanced at Elder Kimball. The man looked troubled rather than smug or triumphant, or any other emotion that Jacob might have expected.
“Good,” said the prophet. “Now we can move on to the business of confirming Elder Johnson’s replacement.” His voice wavered and Jacob thought he sounded tired. “As we are all agreed on a course of action, can we now agree to heal the rift that has developed between us?”
Jacob took his cue. He had been dismissed without the bother of a dismissal. He rose to his feet, growing angrier by the second.
The prophet motioned for him to sit back down. “This concerns you, Jacob.”
Another surprise. “Me? How so?” He returned to his seat.
Brother Joseph said, “You will be the newest member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Jacob Christianson.”
Jacob gaped. “How is that possible? I’m twenty-six. I’m not even married.”
“Not yet,” his father put in.
“Not yet, fine. But there are others more worthy than I am, who have more experience and stronger testimonies. Men who are spiritual giants compared to me.”
“All of which may be true,” Brother Joseph said. “Nevertheless, you are my choice and the choice of the Quorum. Will you accept this calling?”
Someone else—Taylor Junior, certainly—would have grabbed the prize. Jacob knew it for the burden that it was. A man didn’t gain strength by gaining power, though that seemed a contradiction. Look at the prophet. What man carried a heavier burden than Brother Joseph? He was responsible for the souls of four thousand men, women, and children. Lead them astray and God’s condemnation would fall upon his head.
Jacob spoke slowly. “There’s something else happening here, isn’t there? Some other arrangement.” He looked from one man to another around the room, and stopped when he reached Abraham Christianson. “Dad, what is it?”
His father sighed. “These are difficult times, Jacob. There has been discord among our ranks. It’s come to the point of tearing apart Zion. This is the solution to which we have consented.”
“This sounds like
part
of the solution,” Jacob said. “But nothing comes without cost. You’ve promised something in return, haven’t you? If I’m going to join the Quorum, I have to know what.”
His father said, “You will take this position and Elder Kimball’s son the next opening in the Quorum. Elder Young’s son will take the next opening after that.” He didn’t need to mention the age of several members of the quorum, including the two nonagenarians. Those next openings would not be long in arriving.
Taylor Junior as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve? Appalling. Stephen Paul Young? He was a good man. So Father would take a son and an ally in trade for one treacherous son of his enemy. A devil’s bargain.
“I see.”
“There is one other thing,” Father said. “You will marry Elder Kimball’s daughter. Taylor Junior will marry your sister. The weddings will take place tomorrow morning.”
“Eliza.” The single word came out of his mouth.
Father nodded. “Yes, Eliza. I’m sorry, Jacob.”
The men at the table watched Jacob, waiting. One word, one nod from him and a sigh of relief would ripple through the room. What struggles had brought them to this point, what crisis threatened to tear apart the church? He could dissolve that crisis with a single word of consent.
“I can’t do that. I won’t.”
“Jacob,” his Father began.
Brother Joseph cut in then. “I understand this is difficult for you. I’ve seen that you love your sister and would shield her from harm. You would choose a different man for her. But this solution, agreed upon by all parties, would bring healing to the Quorum. It is the Lord’s will that we resolve the spirit of contention in this body.”
“And you’re telling me this is the Lord’s will?” Jacob shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Why would the Lord force me to sacrifice my sister and her happiness? Did you know that Taylor Junior attacked Eliza?” Jacob looked around the room, now speaking to all of them. “He broke into her room, waited till she came back and then groped her. Probably would have raped her if I hadn’t intervened. And you want her to marry this man?”
Men shifted in their seats and he saw their discomfort. No surprise, however. They knew already what Taylor Junior was or was not. Oh, but don’t look too closely or it might disturb the convenient solution to their problems. And why should this surprise him? They had already abandoned Amanda Kimball.
Brother Joseph broke the silence, “I sympathize with your position, and I’ll counsel Elder Kimball’s son before the marriage. He must learn how to manage his passions.”
Jacob shook his head, “That’s not enough. Maybe Taylor Junior can reform himself. Maybe not. But I still won’t trust him with my sister. Eliza holds only contempt for Taylor Junior. Contempt and fear. What kind of a brother would sell out his sister like you’re suggesting?
“And isn’t a woman also a child of God?” he continued. “Doesn’t she deserve happiness? Or is she a brood mare, to be sold, traded, and bred with whatever stallion her owners have chosen?”
The prophet said, “Jacob, we are, none of us, our own masters. This is the hard truth. We are servants of the Lord, and we belong to Him. The Lord has commanded that we build His kingdom. This means that our personal desires must be subsumed for the good of Zion. Our reward comes not in this life, but in the world to come. It is there that we will receive our glory, that the Lord will embrace each of us and say, ‘well done, thou good and faithful servant.’ In the meanwhile, our path is sometimes difficult.”
“The world to come?” Jacob couldn’t help himself. “Why should we expect to treat each other any better in the next world? Somehow we’re going to value individuals in the next world when we can’t manage to do so here?”
Grandpa Griggs leaned to Jacob’s father and whispered something. Abraham Christianson nodded. He rose to his feet, looking troubled. Good, Jacob thought, let him twist on a skewer of his own guilt.
His father said, “I’m going to excuse myself to the hall to have a word with my son.”
Jacob turned on his father as soon as they reached the hall. “You sold out your own daughter. What’s more, you betrayed Amanda Kimball. Her blood cries from the grave, and you made a bargain to silence that cry.” He stared at his father with white-hot fury and a dawning realization. “You never sent me to Blister Creek to resolve her murder, did you? You sent me forward, like a pawn on a chess set, to get behind Elder Kimball’s defenses.”
His father slapped him. An open hand, hard across the cheek. Jacob drew back and stared at his father with disdain, daring him to strike him again. His cheek throbbed.
Father said, “Get a grip on yourself. You are a man who can control his emotions, Jacob. I expect you to do so now. Now, I want you to listen, and listen well.”
His anger roared in his ears, but he didn’t give it voice. Instead, he sat for a long moment until it receded. “I’m listening.”
“Ready? Good, that’s better. First, there will be time to find Amanda’s murderer. Later, when the dust has settled. More important is to cut off the men who are maneuvering for power. If they gain mastery over our side, then Amanda will
never
receive justice.”
“But what about the prophet? Isn’t
he
the leader of the church?”
“Yes, of course. But he’s a peacemaker. Harmony and a singularity of purpose are of supreme importance. The people who stand in open conflict will always lose. We must match our enemies’ tactics step for step. Our enemies are subtle, and so must we be.”
His father took him by the arm and led him a few paces away from Brother Joseph’s sons standing vigil outside the door to the bishop’s office. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “Do you know why they want Eliza so badly? There are other women available.”
Jacob shrugged. “To gain leverage in our family?” They already had one such with Fernie, although she wasn’t a blood relative of Abraham Christianson.
“More elemental than that.”
“She’s young, attractive. Intelligent.”
“Intelligent. Yes. IQ of 138. Very high for a woman. Now, I don’t mean anything sexist by that, but you know we can only work one end of the gene pool.”
Jacob said, “Meaning that we can only select for intelligence in our men. Every woman is valuable, intelligent or not.”
“Exactly. The Lord has chosen us to rule the world some day. To do so, we need two things that we do not yet have. First, we must multiply our numbers. We are doubling in population every twenty years, but is it fast enough? And the second thing we need is the mental and spiritual faculties to rule. When the Lord first told Joseph Smith to implement the principle of plural marriage He said that it was to raise up a righteous seed. A seed is cultivated, selected for its vigor. We must do the same thing within the ranks of our people.”
It was a straight-out admission of what Jacob had confirmed with his own observation. That it was so direct came as a surprise. “We’re breeders of people.”
Father continued, “Now, here’s where we reach the conflict within the Quorum. There are some who say, ‘faster, faster.’ They want to see improvement within their own lifetimes. The Second Coming might be just around the corner. Selecting for intelligence within our men isn’t sufficient. And it fosters competition for the intelligent young women within the church. Like Eliza. There is another factor, too. That is the dysgenic effect of inbred communities.”
Jacob nodded. In churches such as the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints or the Kingston Clan, it was common to force women into marriage with first cousins, or even uncles. They even
looked
inbred.
He’d never heard it spoken, though. The Saints considered themselves a chosen people, and there was a tendency for all chosen people to consider their blood and their kin to be superior to others. The ancient Israelites, the royal families of Europe, the pharaohs, the ruling classes of Imperial Japan. All, purposefully inbred.
“Of course we’re not inbred to that extent,” Father said, “but don’t forget that we’re all descended from a handful of families. By your generation, everyone is a second cousin, usually by several different lines. We need fresh blood.”