Mary Ann pulled herself back as Joseph continued.
“‘And they did look steadfastly towards Heaven, from whence the sound came; and behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it saith unto them, Behold, my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name, hear ye him.’”
Mary Ann felt a hand slip into hers and turned to see Nathan looking at her. She suddenly realized she was crying. She squeezed his hand back. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”
Joseph paused, and Mary Ann realized he and the others were all looking at her too. She brushed quickly at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Please don’t stop, Joseph.”
Joseph’s eyes softened as he nodded and found his place again. “‘And it came to pass as they understood, they cast their eyes up again towards Heaven, and behold, they saw a man descending out of Heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe, and he came down and stood in the midst of them, and the eyes of the whole multitude were turned upon him, and they durst not open their mouths, even one to another, and wist not what it meant: for they thought it was an angel that had appeared unto them.
“‘And it came to pass that he stretched forth his hand, and spake unto the people, saying: Behold I am Jesus Christ, of which the prophets testified that should come into the world; and behold I am the light and the life of the world.’”
Oh, Benjamin! Why aren’t you here now to hear this, to hear these words which set my heart aflame? How could you then deny? How could you say there is no power in all this?
The sounds of the children playing outside could be heard faintly through the open windows, and somewhere further away a meadowlark was giving his last song of twilight. But within the cabin no one made a sound. Every eye was on Joseph.
Joseph’s voice had dropped now but was still filled with a quiet power. “‘And it came to pass that the Lord spake unto them saying: Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands, and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world.
“‘And it came to pass that the multitude went forth, and thrust their hands into his side, and did feel the prints of the nails in his hands and in his feet; and this they did do, going forth one by one, until they had all gone forth, and did see with their eyes, and did feel with their hands, and did know of a surety, and did bear record, that it was he, of whom it was written by the prophets that should come.
“‘And it came to pass that when they had all gone forth, and had witnessed for themselves, they did cry out with one accord, saying: Hosanna! Blessed be the name of the Most High God! And they did fall down at the feet of Jesus, and did worship him.’”
Joseph stopped, took the sheets in his hand, and put them back with the ones he had set on the table. He was gazing out of the window, his eyes seeing something far away. Finally he turned. “Martin has got to start back or it will be midnight before he gets to Palmyra. We’ll read some more tomorrow.”
There were murmurs of disappointment, but people began to stir themselves. As they began to talk or to go outside to check on the children, Mary Ann did not move, barely aware of what was going on around her.
Hosanna! Blessed be the name of the Most High
God! Thus had the people cried. So now did her own heart cry out. It was enough. This was the anchor she had been seeking.
She was jerked out of her thoughts when she realized that Joseph had come to stand before her and was looking down at her, smiling softly. “Well, Sister Steed,” he said, “did you get it?”
Startled, both at the form of address and his question, she stood up, quickly smoothing at her apron.
“Well, did you?” he said, looking deep into her eyes.
“Did I get what?”
“The answer for which you were seeking.”
She rocked back a little, stunned that he would know.
He laughed and held out his hands. She took both of them, tears suddenly welling up again. “Yes,” she smiled through them. “Yes, Joseph, I did.”
Chapter Twenty-one
It had not been a good two days for Benjamin Steed. Even though he had replaced the splint on his arm right after his family left, it continued to ache abominably. He went to bed early, but slept little until he rose about midnight and downed a third of a bottle of whiskey. That had dulled the pain to the point of bearability, and he finally slept, though fitfully. But this morning he had awakened with a raging headache, and the throbbing in his arm was back.
An empty house and having to fix his own breakfast did little to improve his temper. By ten o’clock he was in the barn, puttering around awkwardly, his mood growing blacker each hour. In almost twenty-three years of marriage he and Mary Ann had had their disagreements—what man and wife didn’t?—but there had always been a common bond, shared goals, unity of purpose. Now he felt that slipping away from them, and the harder he fought to halt the slide, the more it widened the gap.
From the time he was a small boy working alongside his father in the fields, he had enjoyed throwing himself against the land and wresting victory from its reluctant grasp. That he understood. When you had a problem, you lowered your shoulders, bowed your neck a little, and charged into the fray. Hard work, integrity, good old-fashioned common sense—these had always proven sufficient to win the day. But now he was up against something without form or substance. It frustrated him, and even though he knew he was driving a wedge between him and his wife, standing by and saying nothing chafed at his basic nature.
The sounds of a wagon in the yard brought his head up. For a moment he felt a quick surge of elation. Mary Ann felt bad. She had returned early. But almost immediately the irritation bubbled up again. It was time to put this thing down once and for all. He had been trying to patch a board the cow had kicked loose. He tossed the hammer aside angrily and stomped out into the yard, in a mood for battle.
He stopped, blinking in surprise. Martin Harris was just going onto the porch of the cabin.
Along with each successive wave of immigrants that came to America came the folk medicine of the Old World. Drawing liberally from the elaborate pharmacopeia of the native Indians and the secrets of African medicine men brought as slaves, the folk medicine of America was a blend of superstition, good old common sense, a touch of white magic, and, in some cases, blatant charlatanism. Butternut bark (effective only if peeled upward off the tree), slippery elm, bloodroot, jimsonweed, and pokeberry soon mixed with Old World favorites like saffron, pennyroyal, and tansy. Some of the formulas and recipes made at least marginal sense. Cholera morbus, which was rarely fatal, was treated with a combination of French brandy, lime juice, sugar, and a little hot water. Such a mixture was bound to improve one’s attitude if not the sickness itself. But the shakes and typhoid fever were treated with soot from inside a chimney—stovepipe soot was useless—mixed with sugar and cream. Juice from the woolly-headed thistle could cure even the most virulent forms of cancer, while a rival recipe prescribed white-oak ashes mixed with calomel, saltpeter, and pulverized centipede applied to the afflicted area with a piece of new, soft leather. Fried-mouse pie cured bed-wetting. Cow-dung poultices were for serious bruises. Amulets hung round the neck for at least twelve days prevented a host of general infections.
Benjamin had never put much stock in such shenanigans; in fact, he had never had to, because he was rarely ill. So when Martin brought out the bottle of herb tea prepared and sent by his wife, Benjamin looked at it suspiciously. “What’s in it?” he asked.
Martin Harris shrugged. “Lucy never tells me. But it works. I had a toothache one night last year. Thought I’d go mad before morning came and I could get to the doctor. Lucy made me drink one cup of this tea and in twenty minutes the pain was all but gone. I’ve been a believer ever since.” He laughed. “Though it takes me half a day to work up my courage to drink it.”
He poured a generous measure into the cup he had gotten from the cupboard. “Come on. I know your arm must be hurtin’ like the devil.”
Still reluctant, Benjamin picked up the cup and sniffed at it, wincing almost instantly.
Martin laughed. “Don’t think about it too long, or you’ll not have the nerve to drink it. Just hold your breath and down it.”
If it had been anyone else, Benjamin would have refused, but he didn’t want to offend Martin. He sniffed again, then taking a quick breath, drained the cup in three great gulps. He gasped, his face contorting as the bitter liquid hit his throat, burning all the way down.
Martin laughed again. “Pretty awful, ain’t it?”
Benjamin barely repressed a shudder and set the cup down. “Thank you.” He managed a grin. “I think.”
Martin chuckled easily. “You’ll see. Won’t be long and the arm will be back down to the point where you’ll barely notice it.”
He took the bottle of tea and the cup and carried them over to the table. “I’ll leave the rest for you.”
Benjamin swallowed twice, trying to clear the bitterness from his mouth. “Tell Mrs. Harris thanks for her consideration.”
Martin nodded absently. He was gazing out of the window. One hand had come up, and the fingers were drumming on the tabletop. Benjamin watched him closely, sensing there was more to this visit than simply bringing medicine to an ailing neighbor. He was nervous. He had spoken too quickly, laughed a bit too loudly, and had pattered on like a woman at a cornhusking.
Turning, he came back and sat down at the table facing Benjamin. He took a quick breath, then leaned forward. “I was in Fayette yesterday, Benjamin.”
Benjamin’s head came up slowly.
“I had a good visit with Mrs. Steed and Nathan before I came back last night.”
The heavy dark brows lowered as Benjamin stared at his neighbor. “Did Mary Ann send you?” he asked tightly.
Martin’s hands shot up in protest. “No, no. She doesn’t know I’m here. I did ask about your arm and she said it was bothering you some. I just thought some of Lucy’s tea might help.”
Benjamin sat back again, pushing down the anger that had fired almost instantly within him. Differences between a man and his wife were strictly their own affair. He would have taken it as a serious breach if Mary Ann had been talking things over with Martin. “That was right thoughtful of you,” he finally said, forcing himself to relax again.
Martin nodded. Benjamin’s reaction had done nothing to lessen his nervousness. His fingers picked at a thread on one of the buttons of his jacket. His eyes would meet Benjamin’s momentarily, then flit away, only to dart back again to see if Benjamin was still watching him.
“Joseph’s got the translation of the Book of Mormon done,” he suddenly blurted.
So that was it. Benjamin winced inwardly. He was hardly in a mood for that this morning, but all he offered was a noncommittal, “Oh?”
Martin went on in a rush, obviously relieved to have finally started. “The problem now is to find a publisher.” He took a breath. “At first he went to the E. B. Grandin shop here in Palmyra. Grandin prints the
Wayne Sentinel.
He’s probably got the best print shop around. But Grandin refused to do it. He said Joseph had no money and no one was going to buy the book, so he wouldn’t take the risk.”
“Can’t hardly blame him for that,” Benjamin said carefully. He had no wish to offend Martin Harris, but neither was it his nature to hide what he felt. “Knowing the way people around here feel about Joseph it would be foolish to assume people will buy it.”
“Oh, I think they will,” Martin said eagerly. “Once they see it and find out what it is, I think everybody’s going to want a copy.” Then, not wanting to be sidetracked, he hurried on. “Grandin finally agreed to take the job if Joseph would put up some kind of security.”
“What kind of security?” Benjamin asked slowly, finally sensing where this was leading and not liking it one bit.
“Three thousand dollars.”
Benjamin stared. “Three thousand dollars!”
“Yes,” Martin said glumly. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“Look, Martin,” Benjamin began, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve used all my savings getting this farm up and working. Even this year’s crop will barely cover—”
He stopped. Now it was Martin who was staring at him. Then suddenly Martin threw back his head and laughed.
Benjamin waited, taken aback by his reaction.
Martin was shaking his head, still chuckling. Finally he sobered. “Benjamin, did you think I was going to ask you for help?”
“Well, I-”
“I would never presume on our friendship like that. I know how you feel about Joseph.”
Chagrined, but also very relieved, Benjamin shook his head. “I’m sorry, it was just the way you started. I…” He shrugged.
“I understand. No, Ben, what I’m going to do is take out a mortgage on my farms. I’ll go to the lawyer tomorrow and draw up the papers.”
The memory of Lucy Harris going from house to house asking people to hide her possessions so Martin wouldn’t “steal” them from her flashed into Benjamin’s mind.
Martin seemed to guess his thoughts. “I haven’t told Lucy yet.”
“Three thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money, Martin.”
He nodded soberly. “I know.”
Benjamin leaned forward quickly. “Are you sure, Martin? Don’t let Joseph talk you into this unless you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” he said evenly.
But Benjamin didn’t accept that. All his frustration welled up again. “All this talk about angels!” he burst out. “It’s crazy talk, Martin. And the gold plates. If he has them, why hasn’t he shown them to anyone?”
The older man leaned back, absently rubbing his beard.
“I’m sorry, Martin. I know you like Joseph, but when you start talking about three thousand dollars, I’ve got to speak my mind.”
Martin didn’t seem the least upset by Benjamin’s directness. “Ben, would you say I am an honest man?”
There was no hesitation. “Of course.”