“I don’t want to see Martin before the meeting. It will only depress me. I’ll see him after. I think I’ll walk a while before the services.”
One eyebrow came up, then he saw her eyes drop to the book he was carrying. She immediately nodded, understanding. “All right, Ben. Rebecca and I will just meet you at the temple.”
* * *
Most of the town of Kirtland was built on high bluffs that overlooked the meandering path of the Chagrin River valley. Not far south of where the Steeds lived, a thick woodlot of natural forest still lined the edge of the bluff. Benjamin had found the spot over a year ago and sometimes went there to be alone or to think things through. He loved the deep shade and freshness of the air. There was also one spot, under a huge oak tree, where he could look out across the valley and the patchwork of farmland and forest to the east. So it was to this spot Benjamin came with his Bible on this Sabbath morning in August of 1837.
For several minutes he picked his way idly through the four Gospels, stopping here and there to read a parable or a brief sermon. He didn’t know what he was looking for, wasn’t sure where to begin. For almost half an hour he got swept up in the final chapters of the book of Luke. For a time the stirring account of the Savior’s arrest, trial, and crucifixion and the marvelous events of the Resurrection held his attention, and any thoughts of Joseph Smith and Martin Harris and the troubles in Kirtland were pushed aside.
When he finished, he leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. There had been no answers there, but it felt good to focus on the Savior. It was as though he had come back to something fundamental, something that in the past few weeks he had neglected. But the feeling lasted only a few moments, then the other questions came pressing back. There was an immediacy to his current situation that could not be ignored. Once again he opened his Bible.
This time he turned to the beginning pages of the Gospel of St. Matthew. Across the top of each page there were running heads, a line or two of text that summarized the content of the chapters below. As he turned the pages, he saw that the first chapters covered the birth and genealogy of the Savior, the coming of the Wise Men to Herod, and then the baptism and the temptation of Jesus. He didn’t pause to read any of those things.
He turned the page. He was now to chapter five. The running head said, “The Sermon on the Mount; gospel laws replace Mosaic codes.” He glanced briefly at the text below, then went on. The next heading read, “Sermon continues; Lord’s Prayer given; treasures in earth and heaven.” For a moment he paused, half closing his eyes as he recited the Lord’s Prayer softly to himself. His mother had made him memorize that prayer before he had reached the age of five. It was probably the only scripture he had ever memorized. He smiled to himself, strangely pleased he could still remember.
But it was a momentary pleasure, and he turned the next page. Suddenly he was peering at the top of the page. Something in the running head had leaped out at him. “On judging; the strait and narrow way;
false and true prophets.
” He looked more closely at the final words:
false and true prophets.
He could hardly believe what he was seeing. Eagerly he dropped his gaze and started skimming through the chapter, looking for the relevant text. He found what he was looking for beginning in verse fifteen of chapter seven:
Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.
Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?
Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.
A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.
Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.
Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.
“By their fruits ye shall know them.”
He lowered the book to his lap, gazing out across the valley below him. He had heard that phrase many times before, but he had had no idea it was given in the context of a discussion on true and false prophets. He picked up the Bible again. Carefully, more slowly now, he read through the whole passage again.
* * *
Benjamin’s mind was still racing as he walked swiftly up the street toward the Kirtland Temple. There were still many things to sort out, some questions he had to think through, but he knew he was on the verge of getting his answer, and his spirits were soaring.
He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. It was two minutes before the hour of nine. He frowned in disappointment. That meant there would be no time to talk with Mary Ann. And he was anxious to do that. He needed her gentle wisdom and her practical good sense. She would listen to his questions, point out any flaws in his reasoning. And, being completely honest with himself, he knew he was also eager to see the look in her eyes when he told her that her granite-headed husband had finally broken his impasse with the Lord.
Suddenly he remembered Martin Harris. His mouth pulled down into a heavy frown. He didn’t want to face Martin yet. Not until he had come to a clear resolution. In that sense, the lateness of his arrival might be to his advantage. He could already see that there were very few Saints still on their way to the temple. Most were already inside and seated.
But to Benjamin’s surprise it was not Martin Harris who waited for him on the temple steps, but his own son. The moment Nathan spotted him coming up the walk, he came in a half walk, half run to meet him. “Pa,” he said, even before he reached him. “There’s going to be trouble.”
Benjamin was surprised at the grimness on Nathan’s face. “What kind of trouble?”
“Parrish and his followers are armed.”
“
What?
Are you sure?” Benjamin had long ago learned that wild rumors had a way of multiplying like rabbits in a meadow of clover.
“I saw them, Pa.” Nathan shook his head, and the depths of his alarm now touched off Benjamin’s anxiety. “They’ve got pistols and bowie knives.”
“In the temple? Why didn’t someone stop them?” But even as he said it he realized it was a foolish question. He took Nathan’s elbow. “Let’s get inside.”
“Yes. Mother and Lydia and Rebecca are saving us a place.” He looked at his father. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it in time.”
* * *
The tension inside the great assembly hall on the main floor of the Kirtland Temple was thicker than smoke inside an Indian wickiup. The congregation had started the opening hymn as Benjamin and Nathan stood at the back of the hall for a moment before moving to their seats. But this was not the usual opening hymn. Benjamin always thrilled with the power of eight hundred Saints lifting their voices in songs of praise to the Lord. But now the singing was half-hearted, tentative, almost frightened. He saw that many people kept turning away from their hymnbooks to look nervously over their shoulders. The congregation was facing west, toward the Melchizedek Priesthood pulpits. But the attention of the audience was being drawn to the Aaronic Priesthood pulpits that occupied the east end of the hall, just to the left of where Nathan and Benjamin were standing.
As Benjamin turned to see what they were looking at, it became instantly obvious what was causing the stir. Warren Parrish and his followers had taken over the eastern pulpits. There were fifteen or sixteen of them, all leaning forward on their elbows, glaring menacingly at the faces below them. Benjamin felt his heart drop. The man closest to him had a long bowie knife stuck in his boot. Beyond him, Benjamin could see the handle of a pistol jutting out from Lyman Johnson’s belt. John Boynton, who sat in the second row but in the seat closest to Benjamin, had a cane across his lap and a pistol in his hand. Benjamin felt suddenly sick. He was familiar with that cane. In reality it was hollow. It was nothing more than the scabbard for a long, razor-sharp steel blade. The end of the cane served as the handle for the sword. Nathan was right. This was a dangerous situation.
Warren Parrish suddenly turned and looked at Benjamin. For a long moment their eyes locked. Then Boynton turned as well. He sneered at Benjamin, motioning with his head for him to come and sit with them. Benjamin pretended he had not seen it. “Come on,” he whispered to Nathan. “Let’s sit down.”
The relief on Mary Ann’s face as Benjamin sat down beside her was so obvious that he would have smiled if the situation weren’t so serious. “Ben,” she started to whisper, “did you see those—”
He took her hand and squeezed it quickly. “I saw,” he murmured. “It’s going to be all right.”
The congregation finished singing the hymn, and a brother on the front row rose to give the invocation. All heads bowed, and for a few moments the assembly was united in prayer. When the man finished and was seated again, Joseph Smith, Sr., rose from his place in the western pulpits. He was evidently in charge of the meeting and conducting it in Joseph’s absence. Benjamin nodded. He didn’t know who had made that choice, but it was a good one. Joseph’s father, now in his sixty-seventh year, was a venerated figure in Kirtland. His bearing was always one of dignity and wisdom. As Patriarch to the Church and father to the Prophet, he was almost universally beloved and respected.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began in a voice that was surprisingly strong for his years, “we shall begin our meeting today by calling on Brother Zebedee Coltrin to address us.”
He sat down, and Brother Coltrin immediately stood. Again Benjamin nodded. This too was a wise choice. Zebedee Coltrin had been one of the seven presidents of the First Quorum of the Seventy for a time. Earlier in the year he and four others had been released from their positions in the presidency so that they could join with the high priests quorum. Zebedee was a faithful follower of Joseph and a man of unflinching courage.
For a moment he looked out across the congregation, then finally let his eyes come to rest on the brethren on the opposite end of the hall. “My dear brothers and sisters, fellow citizens with the Saints, it is with a grave heart that I rise to speak to you this Sabbath morning. These are sobering times in the Church. These are times of great sorrow.”
Behind him Benjamin heard an angry mutter. He half turned and could see Boynton and Parrish whispering urgently to each other.
“Apostasy has reared its ugly head among us,” Coltrin was continuing, “and it is eating at the very foundations of the Church.”
Parrish shot to his feet. “Objection!”
Every head in the congregation turned. Eyes were wide with shock at the blatancy of the interruption. Parrish was leaning forward, breathing hard. “We bitterly resent the insinuations being made by Brother Coltrin. He speaks of apostasy and looks directly at us.”
“Rightly so,” someone in the congregation called out.
Now Boynton leaped up. “I heard that,” he shouted. “Who said it? Who dares to accuse us of apostasy?”
Zebedee Coltrin’s mouth was a tight line. “Brother Parrish, may I remind you that I have the floor. I referred to no one by name. I wish only—”
“You didn’t have to,” Parrish yelled. “We know who you are referring to with your subtle accusations and condescending innuendos.”
Father Smith rose, his eyes blazing. “Brother Parrish,” he called out across the congregation. “I have turned the time over to Brother Coltrin. If you wish to speak, I will call on you as soon as Brother Coltrin is finished.”
Instantly all the men surrounding Parrish were up. Some were waving pistols in the air, others were pounding on the tables. “Let him be heard!” “We won’t be silenced!” “Unfair! Unfair!”
The congregation sat in stunned silence, their heads jerking back and forth between the two groups. Benjamin and his family were seated just two or three rows back from the pulpits where Father Smith and Zebedee Coltrin were standing. Benjamin saw Father Smith turn to a brother near him. He leaned forward, trying to catch what was said.
“Go fetch the police,” Father Smith called to the man. “We shall not tolerate this outrage one moment longer.”
The man nodded and hurried out. Benjamin looked to Mary Ann, whose face had gone white. Lydia and Rebecca were staring at the Parrish group in shock and horror. Benjamin grabbed Nathan’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Be ready to get the women out of here,” he said. “Things are getting out of control.”
“Silence!” Father Smith suddenly roared. It was like dumping a bucket of water on a burning stick. The shouting on the far east end sputtered out to angry mutterings and then to quiet.
Father Smith turned and motioned for Brother Coltrin to sit down, which he did. At that, Parrish and his party also sank back into their seats. Their faces were angry, but for the moment they were silenced.
“I cannot believe what is happening,” Father Smith said, his voice trembling. “This is the house of the Lord. This is a place of reverence and worship. Have we lost all respect for God? Have we no shame?”
Benjamin saw Parrish stir, but Father Smith overrode him, his voice like the thunders of heaven, his eyes raking the group in the eastern pulpits. “You make this house a den of robbers and thieves and armed thugs! You are all rabble-rousers. And you, Warren Parrish—you are a known adulterer. How dare you come into the Lord’s house and demand to be heard!”
Parrish screamed out one foul obscenity and was out of the pulpits, running up the aisle toward Father Smith, his hands outstretched, his fingers formed into claws. Boynton leaped to his feet, brandishing his pistol. “I’ll blow the brains out of any man that moves!” he shouted. The other men around him were up now too, pistols out, knives drawn.
The effect was just the opposite of what Boynton demanded. Women and children screamed. A man on the far aisle leaped up and dove out of the nearest open window. People were ducking down between the pews, husbands were grabbing for their wives and children, people were stampeding for the doors.
Benjamin turned to Nathan. “Let’s get them out of here! You take Lydia.” He grabbed Mary Ann, then leaned forward to see beyond her to Rebecca. “Take your mother’s hand,” he cried. “Come on!”