“I’m estimating the hall will seat about thirty-five hundred,” Weeks said.
“Thirty-five hundred!” Nathan echoed. “The Kirtland Temple didn’t seat even a thousand.”
“Around nine hundred,” Weeks said. “At least that’s what Joseph tells me.” He pulled back the next three sheets, one after the other, commenting only briefly. The second floor had another large assembly room. The attic floor also had a central meeting hall, but it was smaller and there were several rooms off to each side. “Offices for the leaders of the Church,” he explained, “and rooms for ordinance work.”
“Ordinance work?” Lydia asked.
He shrugged. “Yes. Joseph hasn’t said what those ordinances are to be, but I’ve put them in.” He reached for the next page, but hesitated for a moment before pulling it back. “Now, here’s what I want to show you.” With a bit of a flourish, he turned that page over.
“Oh!” Lydia said with a soft gasp of amazement.
“Oh yes!” Nathan said.
What they were looking at was the side elevation, the drawing of the building as it would look to someone standing outside looking from the south side. Weeks made no attempt to hide his satisfaction. “There it is,” he said proudly. “What do you think?”
Nathan had heard Joseph speak of what the building would look like when it was finished, but it was one thing to hear it explained in words, it was quite another to see it visually represented. “It is magnificent,” Nathan breathed. “Absolutely magnificent.”
“Oh, yes,” Lydia agreed.
The main part of the building was a large rectangle with windows in neat rows along it. On the top of the one end of the building—the front end—there was an additional third of a story above the roof line. From the center of that rose a gracefully rounded and tiered steeple which towered high above the rest of the building. This additional section and steeple robbed the building of any sense of squarishness and made the whole effect quite delightful.
“Are these pillars?” Nathan asked, pointing to the main bulk of the building. Evenly spaced along the full side were what looked like pillars of a Greek temple.
“Actually, they’re called
pilasters
,” Weeks said, proud to show off what he thought was one of his finest ideas. “A pilaster is kind of an imitation column, but it’s only decorative. They help break up the flat expanse of that huge side wall.”
“They’re beautiful,” Lydia said. “And what are these?” She was pointing to the base of one of the pilasters. There was a figure there, as well as on all the others, which looked like a crescent moon tipped on its face.
“Those are moon stones.”
Both husband and wife looked at him in surprise. “Moon stones?” Nathan echoed.
“Yes.” Weeks touched the drawing where the capital, or top, of each pilaster had another figure. “And these are sun stones. I’m not sure exactly what they’ll look like when they’re actually carved into the stone, but right now, they’ll be a sun disk, with rays coming out the top. And here”—he touched figures of stars that were above each pilaster—“these are star stones.”
“But . . .” Lydia was puzzled. “Why the moon, the sun, and the stars?”
Weeks chuckled. “Because Joseph asked for them.” And then before they could comment on that, he sobered again. “Think about it for a minute. The stars, the moon, the sun—does that remind you of something?”
“The three degrees of glory,” Nathan said with a sudden jolt of insight.
“Ah, yes,” Lydia said, understanding immediately. One of the great revelations Joseph had received back in the early years of the Church taught that there were different degrees of glory in the afterlife and not just a simple heaven or hell. The Lord compared the glory of each degree, or place of dwelling, to various heavenly bodies—the celestial, or highest, kingdom being like the sun, the terrestrial like the moon, and the telestial, or lowest, like the glory of the stars. “What a wonderful reminder,” she said.
Chapter Notes
The description of the Nauvoo Temple and its design both inside and out is factual (see
Encyclopedia of Mormonism
, s.v. “Nauvoo Temple”).
Chapter 15
Brother Ingalls?”
Peter turned from his typesetting table to face the clerk who had just stuck his head in the door of the room. “Yes?”
“You’re wanted in the editor’s office.”
“All right. Let me finish setting this line and I’ll be right there.”
The clerk nodded and was gone. Peter pulled the letters and spaces down for the last few words, tapped them firmly into place, let his eye run along the line of type to check the spelling, and then set it down. Though it was in reverse, he had plenty of practice reading things backwards now, and he saw that he had made no mistakes. He wiped his hands on his apron, took it off and hung it on the hook on the wall, and started toward Ebenezer Robinson’s office.
He stopped for a moment to check his reflection in the glass of the window, seeing that, as usual, one lock of hair had slipped down over his forehead. He brushed it back, wet his fingers with his tongue, and tried to plaster it back into place. Peter Ingalls would celebrate his eighteenth birthday in three more months. Unlike Derek, who was stocky and heavily built, Peter was more slight of body and narrow of shoulders. Bending over the typesetting cases day after day hadn’t done a lot to broaden them either. His large blue eyes were usually thoughtful and inquisitive. His features, a legacy from his long-deceased mother, made him look younger than he really was. He made one more attempt to control the errant shock of hair, then gave it up and went on.
To his surprise, it was not Ebenezer Robinson who was waiting for him, however. Instead it was two members of the Council of the Twelve, Elders John Taylor and Wilford Woodruff.
Elder Taylor smiled at the sudden bewilderment on Peter’s face. “It’s all right, Peter. Come in and sit down.”
Wilford Woodruff rose and shook his hand. “Come in, Brother Ingalls, come in.”
Peter moved over to the proffered chair and sat down slowly. Brother Robinson was nowhere to be seen. Joseph’s brother, Don Carlos Smith, had been the first editor of the Church’s newspaper in Nauvoo up until his death the previous August. His assistant editor, Robert B. Thompson, had died a few weeks later. At that point, Ebenezer Robinson—who, since 1839, had been Don Carlos’s business partner in the printing establishment that, among other things, published the
Times and Seasons
—became sole owner of the print shop and editor of the paper. There had been rumors in the past month or two about a change. Peter knew that Brother Joseph had been negotiating with Robinson to step down as editor of the Church’s newspaper and sell the printing business to Willard Richards. But, as far as Peter knew, nothing had come of it as yet.
Elder Taylor waited until he was settled and Elder Woodruff had come back to take the seat beside the desk. Then he smiled warmly. “Are you still reading, Peter?”
Peter nodded immediately, knowing exactly what he had reference to. “Yes, sir, I am. Every chance I get.”
Woodruff nodded. “John has told me how you’ve read about every book in his library, starting back in Far West. That’s wonderful,” he concluded. “As the revelations say, we should seek learning out of the best books.”
“Yes, I firmly believe that,” Peter responded, still not sure what was happening here.
Taylor began rummaging through some papers on the desk, his head down. Woodruff watched him, seeming to know what he was looking for. Peter’s eyes moved back and forth between the two men; he was feeling just a little bewildered.
Wilford Woodruff was the shorter of the two Apostles, being probably no more than five feet seven or eight inches. Peter had heard that in his younger years Wilford had been a miller. That would account for his powerful build. Throughout Nauvoo, Brother Woodruff was known for being able to outwork most of the men around him. But it was his eyes that caught Peter’s attention. They were light blue, almost translucent, and they were the most piercing eyes he had ever seen. It was as if one glance from them and you felt revealed completely. He wore a Greek-style beard that ran from ear to ear beneath his jaw and chin but left his face clean shaven. The beard emphasized the fact that his cheekbones were high and prominent, almost making his face look gaunt. It made him seem stern and fierce-looking, but Peter knew this was deceiving. In addition to his reputation as a hard worker, Wilford Woodruff was renowned for his gentle temperament and naturally cheerful disposition. Derek, who had spent so much time with him during those miraculous missionary days in England, described him as being totally free of jealousy and as having a natural trust of others. He dressed simply and lived simply. Joseph called him “Wilford the Faithful.”
John Taylor was a distinct contrast to his companion. They were nearly the same age—Taylor was about thirty-four, Woodruff two years older than that—but there the similarity ended. John Taylor was almost six feet tall. He had been born in England and immigrated to Canada when he was about twenty. He there married another English immigrant—Leonora Cannon. Peter knew that though he was a skilled cabinetmaker and wood turner, John Taylor loved literature and books. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. His British accent had softened little in his years in North America, and this, coupled with prematurely silvered hair, gave him a regal bearing.
Dignity
and
grace
and
courage
—those were the words that came to Peter’s mind when he thought of John Taylor. During the dark days of Kirtland, John Taylor had been absolutely fearless in defending the Church and the Prophet from the attacks of the dissenters. Peter admired him greatly and had felt a close affinity to him from that day he had first brought the books to him.
Brother Taylor found the paper he was looking for. He scanned it quickly, then looked up. “Well, Peter, some changes are going on that we wanted to talk to you about.”
“All right.”
He handed the paper across to him. “This is a revelation received by Brother Joseph just a week ago. It has to do with the newspaper here.”
Peter reached over and took the paper and sat back. Centered over the few lines of writing was one word:
Revelation
. Then he began to read. As he did so, his eyes widened slightly.
Verily thus saith the Lord unto you, my servant Joseph, go and say unto the Twelve, that it is my will to have them take in hand the editorial department of the
Times and Seasons
, according to that manifestation which shall be given unto them by the power of my Holy Spirit in the midst of their counsel, saith the Lord. Amen.
He read it again, more slowly this time. Finally he looked up and handed it back.
“That was given a week ago today,” Brother Taylor explained.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, as of yesterday, Brother Woodruff has been asked to superintend the printing office and I to take over the management of the editorial department of the
Times and Seasons.
”
“Really?” Peter said eagerly. That was wonderful news. He had enjoyed working for Ebenezer, but to work directly under John Taylor, that would be a privilege indeed.
Brother Woodruff spoke up now. “This morning, we closed the contract with Brother Robinson for the purchase of the printing office, the newspaper, the bookbindery, the paper fixtures, and the stereotype foundry.”
Peter was a little dazed. This would surely mean significant changes. He looked at John Taylor. “It will be a pleasure to work with you, sir. You shall have my complete support.”
The Apostle nodded, pleased with that. “Thank you.” Then there was a slow smile. “But actually, we were hoping for something a little more than that.”
“What?” Peter responded immediately. “I am ready to do whatever you ask.”
“Good. As things stand right now, it’s possible that Brother Joseph may step in as editor-in-chief of the paper. That hasn’t been decided for sure yet. But regardless, I have been assigned to take an active role in the editorial department. If Joseph indeed takes over as editor, I will be the associate editor.” He paused, looking intently at Peter. “How about becoming my editorial assistant?”
Peter gasped softly, and both Taylor and Woodruff chuckled at that.
“Do I take that as a yes or a no answer?” Taylor teased.
“Do you mean that, sir?”
“Of course I mean it.”
“I . . . I would be truly honored to work with you, Elder Taylor. And for you, Elder Woodruff.”
“Until we receive any different instructions from Brother Joseph,” explained Brother Taylor, “we can be making some plans. I would like you to begin thinking about editorials that need to be written, issues that we should bring to the fore. I’ll ask that you read and do a preliminary edit on all the articles submitted for publication before sending them on to me.” He leaned back, quite sober now. “As you know, Brother Joseph has placed more and more responsibility on the shoulders of the Twelve. Brother Brigham, as President of the Quorum, is taking that charge very seriously. There will be times when both Elder Woodruff and I are out of the office, due to the call of our apostolic duties. We need someone who can keep things moving along during such absences.”
Peter’s mind was reeling. “But . . .” Finally, he just gulped a little, then nodded. “I am honored that you would feel that much confidence in me.”
Woodruff stood. “Then it’s done?” he asked Peter.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Peter stood now too, as did John Taylor. They all three came together in front of the editor’s large desk. They shook hands all around. “I will await your instructions,” Peter said.
Lydia Steed was the only person at the Homestead who was not a member of the extended family of Lucy Mack Smith, which said a lot about the depth of the friendship between her and Emma. With the exception of a daughter and a daughter-in-law who lived in Plymouth, a settlement about thirty-five miles southeast of Nauvoo, all the other Smith women had come to help. Lucy Mack was there, of course, supervising all the others in her tireless way. Emma’s children had been sent over to Hyrum and Mary’s house, where Mercy Thompson, Mary’s sister, was watching them along with her own and Mary’s children.