He softened a little. “The Smiths are a good family. They work hard, pay their debts, and mind their own business.” The last comment was accompanied by a sharp look which clearly suggested that others, including Nathan, ought to do the same. “I don’t cotton much to all this talk about angels and gold Bibles, but I figure a man’s religion is his own affair. But all this nonsense about the Smiths being lazy no-accounts and dishonest blackguards is just plain slop for the hogs. Comes from people who ought to be working and not standing around flapping their jawbones.”
Nathan laughed. “I agree. Thank you again.”
He was still chuckling as he continued south, turning once to wave to the old man. It was refreshing to know someone had a kind word to say about the Smith family. Each time he thought about the narrow-mindedness of people, he began to seethe all over again. The old man was right. Maybe all this talk of angels and seeing God in the woods was crazy, but it wasn’t like Joseph was trying to push it off on people. He had only told Nathan after he had pressed him for it. And three times now Nathan had seen him parry Joshua’s attempts to get the whole story out of him.
The confrontation in town earlier that afternoon had left a sour aftertaste in Nathan’s mouth, and he had not felt like going home. His mother would be waiting to ask if Joshua was coming Sunday, and Nathan couldn’t bear the pain that would fill her eyes when he told her no. And if he said anything about what had happened in town, it would only further alienate and anger his pa against Joshua. So for a time he had sat on the grassy banks of the Erie Canal, watching the barges go by. He thought of Joshua, he thought of Lydia, trying to push back the disappointment he had felt when he saw her in the crowd. But mostly he thought about Joseph and what Emma said about the gold Bible.
That’s when he had decided to come south, see if he could find Joseph, and ask him directly. Since the day last spring when they had sat in the meadow and Joseph had told Nathan of his vision, Nathan had gone over it and over it in his mind. One part of him recoiled at the thought of it. God himself coming down to earth? And to visit a boy? And a farm boy at that. He had said as much to his mother, and she countered with examples from the Bible in which the Lord had called common folk or young people to do his work. Samuel was but a child when the Lord called to him in the temple. Gideon, in the book of Judges, was an unknown farmer and the youngest son in his family when he was asked to deliver Israel from the oppressive hand of the Midianites. Peter, James, and John were humble fishermen. Joseph the son of Jacob was but seventeen when he was sold into Egypt and went on to become vice-regent to Pharaoh.
It had startled Nathan as his mother rolled off the examples. Clearly she had been thinking about it quite a bit. More surprising to Nathan, she believed Joseph. Even though she had only heard the story from Nathan’s mouth, she believed it. Whenever Nathan and she discussed it—always out of the presence of Nathan’s father—if he began to ask questions or express doubts, she would quietly defend Joseph and give answers that showed she had been thinking of some of the very questions which troubled Nathan. A few weeks ago she announced, quietly but with force and power, that she had gotten an answer to her prayers. Joseph was telling the truth.
Nathan wasn’t sure her answer fully convinced him. On the other hand, he had worked side by side with Joseph Smith for almost a month. He knew him. He liked him. And of one thing he was absolutely certain: Joseph was not a liar. And even if he were, what possible motive could Joseph have for doing it? Gain? How had he profited from the deceit? He and Hyrum had to hire out as day laborers to help the family survive. Glory? Nathan shook his head at that, thinking about the ugliness of the crowd in town that day. If Joseph was after glory, he had chosen an odd way to get it.
For the past few weeks Nathan had largely put it from his mind, and he and his mother had not discussed it further. But the events of the day brought it all flooding back. Emma had referred to the gold plates as though they were reality. And though Joseph had once again neatly parried the questions thrown at him, he had not denied anything. When Nathan thought back, Joseph had never once denied having the gold book!
It was nearly dusk by the time he stopped in front of a house where a board with the word
Smith
painted on it was nailed to the gate. Nathan looked at the house with a bit of surprise. Joseph had told him his family had recently moved from their log cabin into a new home which the sons had built for their parents. He turned and looked back the way he had come. About fifty or sixty yards up the road and on the opposite side was a small log cabin. It looked more like what Nathan had expected to find.
But this house was a large one, well constructed, with an upper floor over the spacious main level. A front porch ran the full width of the house. The roof came to a tall gabled point over the front door, with wings extending from there both on the north and the south. Two chimneys rose from each end of the house. He calculated quickly, concluding there must be at least four or five rooms on each level. The wood was painted a gleaming white and the yard was well tended. And surrounding the house was a handsome-looking farm. Most of the crops were either in or waiting to be brought in, but the land looked rich and well cared for. For some reason it was more than Nathan had expected. He nodded thoughtfully. Again this hardly fit the picture of a family of religious lunatics.
He walked swiftly up to the door and pulled on the door knocker. There were footsteps inside, then the door opened. It was Emma. For a moment she was startled, then instantly broke into a smile. “Why, Nathan, what a surprise!”
“Hello, Mrs. Smith.”
She laughed merrily. “Emma, please. Remember, I’m not much older than you, Nathan. And I’m still getting used to this Mrs. Smith business.” She pushed open the screen door. “Come in, come in.”
Nathan stepped inside, suddenly feeling foolish about coming. But Emma swung around and called up the stairs. “Joseph, it’s Nathan Steed.”
Before he could speak she reached out and touched his arm. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for what you did today.”
Nathan shrugged, embarrassed by the gratitude in her eyes. “I’m just glad I was there. They wouldn’t have hurt you, it’s just…”
“It’s just that they can’t pass up any opportunity to mock us.” There was no mistaking the soft bitterness which tinged her voice.
“I know. I…I’m sorry one of them was my own brother.”
“You don’t have to be, not after what you did.” She brightened. “But I’m forgetting my manners. Come in and sit down. Joseph will be right down.”
She led the way into the parlor. It was furnished simply but tastefully. A wooden rocking chair was in one corner, a worn but still-serviceable sofa next to the west window. A small table held a large family Bible, and there was a braided rug made from multicolored rags in front of the fireplace. Hand-painted oilcloth curtains hung at both windows, and Nathan remembered that Hyrum once told them his mother was good enough at such painting that she sold them in the village.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and before Nathan had a chance to sit, Joseph bounded into the room. “Nathan! I was planning to come see you tomorrow.”
Nathan blinked. “You were?”
“Yes, to thank you for today.”
“Emma already did.”
Joseph was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt open at the neck. Suspenders held up woolen trousers which were tucked into boots that came almost to his knees. At Nathan’s demure comment, he shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I usually get a few ugly comments whenever I’m in the village, but I didn’t think they would confront Emma.” He turned to her. “Or I would never have left her alone.”
“Thank heavens Nathan came along.”
“Yes.”
Joseph turned as someone came into the room behind them. It was his mother, a tiny woman in a long dress. She had a dish towel and was drying her hands. Joseph immediately stepped aside and brought her forward. “Mother, this is Nathan Steed, the one who helped Emma in the village today.”
The blue eyes immediately lighted with warmth. “Oh, yes. I remember. We met once before in the village.”
“Hello, again, Mrs. Smith.”
“We are so grateful to you for what you did today for Emma.” There were sudden tears in her eyes. “Joseph told me what you said to the crowd as he and Emma walked away.”
This gratitude business was getting out of hand and Nathan felt his face getting hot. He started to brush it aside, but Joseph clapped one hand on his shoulder. “It was wonderful. We are in your debt.”
Emma, sensing his embarrassment, gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit down, Nathan?”
“No, thank you, I can only stay a few minutes. I…I just wanted to talk to Joseph for a moment.”
“Nonsense,” Joseph’s mother said quickly, patting his arm. “I have some warm apple pie in the kitchen. Emma, you go fetch Father Smith and the other children. They’ll be disappointed if they don’t get a chance to meet Nathan. I’ll get the pie on.”
“Really, Mrs. Smith,” Nathan protested, “I’ve got to be getting back.”
Joseph laughed as his mother gently pushed Nathan toward the sofa. “You may as well give in. No one refuses Mother’s apple pie.”
To the west of the Smith home, across Stafford Road, a small creek ran through the farm. Joseph jumped across it easily, with Nathan following, then walked through the remains of a cornfield, his feet crunching pleasantly on the short stalks left in the ground. Nathan followed at his side, his face pensive. Neither man spoke. Nathan was trying to collect his thoughts, and Joseph seemed content to wait for him to take the lead.
About a hundred yards west of the house there was a large stand of virgin forest. It was common practice in the area to leave such stands of trees as woodlots. In fact, in earlier times many house leases included a clause that forbade the tenants from cutting any firewood except that which they could get “by hook or by crook”—that is, by using a hooked stick like a shepherd’s crook to pull down dead or dying branches from the trees. Though the custom had largely passed away, every wise farmer kept a woodlot for lumber and firewood.
For a moment Nathan thought Joseph was heading into the woodlot. The sun had gone down and dusk was rapidly approaching. Within the trees it was dark, almost foreboding. But Joseph stopped on a small grassy knoll just before the trees began. He nodded, as though approving of his choice of sites, and sat down. Nathan followed suit.
A bird flitted overhead and landed in one of the nearby trees. In a moment the lovely song of “bob-o-lee, bob-o-link” floated down to them.
Joseph looked up. “Looks like that one forgot to head south.”
Nathan looked up, not able to find the dark shape in the treetop until it jumped to another branch.
“Normally the bob-o-links start south in mid-July and early August. This one must be from Vermont.”
Surprised, Nathan turned to look at Joseph. “Why Vermont?”
He grinned. “Even the summers in Vermont are so cold he probably developed so many feathers he can’t tell it’s autumn now.”
Nathan laughed.
“And the winters up there. Whoo!”
“I know. Remember, my family comes from Vermont too.”
“Oh, that’s right, down Rutland way.”
“Yes.”
“That hardly counts. Why, the birds up in Windsor County used to fly south to Rutland to warm their tail feathers.”
“Right,” Nathan chuckled. Windsor County was less than a hundred miles north of Rutland, but this straight-faced exaggeration was the New England way, and it brought a quick pang of homesickness to Nathan. There were some things he still missed about Vermont.
“You tell that to my pa and see what he says. That’s one of the reasons we left Rutland.”
“Us too,” Joseph said, sobering. “We had three successive crop failures. Remember the winters of 1815 and ‘16?”
“Barely, but my mother still talks about them.”
With one last lilting cry, the bob-o-link flew away and the woods fell silent. Joseph leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes, letting the soft breeze play across his face.
Nathan watched for a moment, then lay back himself, feeling the warmth of the apple pie and two glasses of milk in his stomach. “Joseph?”
“Yes.”
“I…” He hesitated, feeling suddenly foolish.
“You can ask it, Nathan.”
He turned his head, surprised at his perceptiveness. “I don’t want to pry.”
Joseph turned his head. “After what you did today, Nathan, you can ask.”
Encouraged, Nathan started, hesitantly, not wanting to offend. “This is probably none of my affair, and if it isn’t, just say so.”
“I think it may be very much your affair. Go on.”
He plunged in. “Well, every one keeps talking about you seeing angels and having a gold Bible. Today in town even Emma seemed to talk like there was something to all this.”
Joseph sat up a little, and a slow smile stole across his face. “That wasn’t a question, Nathan.”
“No,” he chuckled, “I guess it wasn’t.”
“So just ask it.”
Nathan took a breath, and pressed on. “All right, then. Is there any truth to all this? Do you have gold plates or a gold Bible?”
“No.”
For a moment Nathan stared at Joseph. That was it? A simple no? So all of the talk, all of the Will Murdock prattle, all the rumors and wild stories were just that? He felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“But…,” Joseph added, watching Nathan closely.
Nathan felt his heart drop. “But what?”
“May I ask you a question first?”
“Of course.”
“Have you thought about what I told you before?”
Now it was Nathan’s turn to sit back. He finally sighed, not able to be anything but totally honest with him. “Yes. A great deal.”
“And?”
“And…” He finally threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know. One part of me wants to believe it. I mean, I know you’re not lying, Joseph. But another part of me thinks, ‘This is absolutely incredible. God appearing to a fourteen-year-old?’ “ Instantly he flushed. “I’m sorry, Joseph, I didn’t mean it that way.”