She shook her head. “He doesn’t think Martin is lying. But he’s convinced he’s been deceived.
Deluded
is the word he used. He calls it devil’s work.”
“But that’s crazy. He’s always been so respectful of Mr. Harris,” Melissa said.
“I know. When Martin told him he had seen the angel himself, it’s like it snapped something in your father.” She looked up at Nathan. There was no hope in her voice. “He’s absolutely set against it, Nathan. He’s forbidden me to talk about it. With him. With you. Last week, I…I specifically asked him about the Book of Mormon. He absolutely forbids it.” She held out the book again toward him.
“He has no right to do that!” Nathan said hotly. “No right.”
She pushed the book gently against him until he took it. “I won’t sneak behind his back, Nathan. I can’t keep this.”
“Well, I can,” Melissa said, snatching it from Nathan.
“Melissa,” her mother warned, “your father will be furious.”
“He hasn’t told me I can’t have it,” she retorted, tossing her head. “This is what I’ve been waiting for. You both believe in Joseph, and I think I do too, but I want to read the book first.”
“I don’t think this is wise,” his mother started, but Nathan raised his hand.
“He can make that decision for himself,” he said, “but he has no right to make the choice for you or Melissa.”
She looked away, staring out of the window. “Well, maybe the Lord will soften his heart. But until then, I am still married to him.”
Nathan’s jaw set and he started to say something, but Melissa gave him a quick shake of her head. In an instant, Nathan’s anger left him. He stepped to his mother and took her by the shoulders. When he turned her around, her eyes were shining.
“It’ll be all right, Ma, you’ll see.”
Yeah! Just like with Lydia.
The bitterness was like a cocklebur in his throat. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him.
They stood like that for several moments, then Nathan cleared his throat. He didn’t want to add to her sorrow, but she had to know. “Ma?”
“What, son?”
“There’s something else.”
She stepped back. “What?”
“Joseph has been instructed to organize a church.”
She stared at him for a moment, not comprehending.
“A church?” Melissa blurted.
“Yes, he’s to organize the Church of Christ on the earth once again.”
“Oh, Nathan,” his mother breathed, “I knew it. I just felt it would come to this. That’s wonderful news.”
“Is it?” he blurted. “You think Pa is going to let us join it?”
She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She reached up and touched his cheek. “You’re on your own now. You do what your heart tells you to do.”
He whirled away from her, biting his lip. Finally he turned back. “It will be a week from this Tuesday, down at the Whitmers’.” He looked at Melissa, then gave a short, bitter laugh. “Joseph said you and Ma are invited to come.”
Melissa had missed the irony. She was thinking only of the implications. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to join his church yet,” she said, troubled now.
“He’s not asking you to. He just said we were invited if we wanted to be there when he organized it.”
“Think of it, Nathan,” his mother said softly. “The Church of Christ once again on the earth.”
“Mother, you’ve got to be there,” he said, nearly choking as a sudden pain twisted inside his chest. “You believed before I did. You’ve always known.”
“Yes.” It came out simply and without any pride. “Yes, I have. I would…” Her head dropped, and Nathan saw that her lower lip was suddenly trembling. “I would give anything to be there.”
“Then I’m taking you,” he said with determination. “Pa will just have to learn to live with it.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, Nathan.”
“Yes, Mama!” Melissa broke in, grabbing one of her hands. “Nathan’s right. If it means that much to you, you have to go. I’ll talk to Papa. I can make him understand.”
She patted Melissa’s hand gently. “Not on this one, you can’t. Not even you, Melissa.” She managed a smile. “But I want you to go, Nathan. Be there so you can tell me everything.”
He started to shake his head, but she grabbed his arm, suddenly fierce. “Yes, Nathan. It’s my only chance to hear of it.”
Then her shoulders straightened and she smiled warmly at the both of them. “Come on. Your father will be home from hunting and there’ll be no breakfast on. That won’t do. Especially not this morning.”
Nathan stood stock still, watching the pain being pushed aside, watching this woman that he loved and admired so much bite down on her frustration so she didn’t cry out. He stepped to her and kissed her quickly on the cheek. “Ma, I’ll not be staying for breakfast.”
Her head came up quickly. “Why not?”
He shook his head grimly. “I’ve got the flooring to put down.” His eyes narrowed. “And it’s best I not see Pa right now, I reckon.” He reached out, touched Melissa’s arm. “Thanks for taking my package in, Melissa.” He spun on his heel and walked out of the door.
Benjamin Steed arrived at Nathan’s cabin shortly after nine o’clock, the leather pouch which carried his carpenter tools slung over one shoulder, the broad ax over the other. As he walked into the yard, he heard the sound of hammering coming from inside the house, and nodded to himself. Martin Harris had been right. As Benjamin had gone hunting that morning for pheasants, he’d found Martin down by the creek fishing. They visited for a few moments, though there was an obvious strain between them now. But Martin had mentioned that he’d been to see Nathan the day before yesterday and found him just starting to put the planks down in the cabin. It had irked Benjamin a little to have to find that out from his neighbor instead of from his son. Planking a floor could be done by one man, but it was heavy work and two could make it go more than twice as fast as a man working alone. He understood a man’s taking pride in doing his own work, but there was no shame in asking family for help.
He stepped onto the porch, stopping a moment to notice the front door. It was of fine chestnut, and Benjamin noted with satisfaction that Nathan had used shiplap joints, which meant that the vertical and horizontal boards both had a notch cut out so they fit together like a tight puzzle. Mitered joints might look all fancy, but as soon as the wood cured, they pulled apart and the door began to jam. It pleased him that Nathan had listened and learned.
The hammering had stopped now, and Benjamin suspected his son had heard his footsteps on the porch. He set the ax down, opened the door, and stepped in. Nathan was on his knees, laying down the next row of “cellar strips” to which the planks would be nailed. When he saw who it was, he straightened slowly, laying the hammer down.
“Mornin’, Nathan.”
“Mornin’, Pa.” There was a definite coolness in the air which Benjamin sensed almost immediately. Nathan could not afford glass at this early stage of being on his own and had put up oiled paper across the two front windows. The back door was open, letting in a little more light, but the cabin was half in gloom and Benjamin could not see Nathan’s face clearly.
“Heard you were putting in your floor. Thought maybe you could use some help.”
“Who told you that?”
“Saw Martin Harris down doing some early-morning fishing. Said he’d been here day before yesterday.”
Nathan’s head came up. “He tell you why he was here?”
“No.” Benjamin noted the sudden tightness around his son’s mouth. “Why?”
Nathan shrugged and picked up his hammer again.
Benjamin was puzzled by what seemed to be some undercurrent of resentment, but brushed it aside. “Where you got the planks? Looks like you’re about ready for some more.”
Nathan stood, letting the hammer hang down at his side. “Ma tell you I was over to the house this morning?”
That caught Benjamin off guard. “No. This morning?”
He nodded.
“What for?” Then a thought struck him. “You come to ask for help?”
“No.” It snapped out, like a blacksmith’s tongs clipping a nail head.
Benjamin unslung the tool pouch, perplexed. Something was definitely eating at Nathan, but he had not the slightest clue what it might be.
Nathan’s chin came up. “I brought Ma a Book of Mormon.”
He lowered the tools carefully to the floor. “You what?”
“I brought Ma a Book of Mormon. I went into town day before yesterday and bought her one.” His lip curled in disgust. “Oh, don’t worry, Pa. She wouldn’t take it. Said you’d already threatened her if she did.”
In one moment his perplexity turned to cold anger. “It’s a good thing.”
Nathan stepped forward, his jaw working, his fingers clenching and unclenching. “No, Pa. It is not a good thing. It’s wrong. Real wrong, Pa.”
“Now, look—”
Nathan’s voice had risen a step. “No,
you
look! What right do you have to tell us what we will or won’t believe?”
“You believe what you want, just stay away from Joseph Smith and his devil ways.”
Nathan threw up his hands, then whirled away, too angry to speak.
“You and your ma want to join some normal church, thump the Bible a little, say your prayers, that’s your business. But when you start taking on with evil, then I draw the line.”
Nathan spun back around, eyes blazing. “That’s right. Call it evil. That makes bigotry all right, then. That’s what the Christians said about the Jews before they slaughtered them by the thousands. They were Christ killers, so wipe the whole lot of them out.”
Benjamin rocked back.
“And so it goes. One religion persecuting another. After all, if they’re different they’ve got to be evil.”
“I don’t—”
But Nathan bored in, overriding him. “That’s what I thought America was all about. No more kings telling people what to believe. No more churches persecuting other churches.” He stopped, breathing hard. “Is that what Grandpa Steed gave his leg fighting for? Freedom to believe in whatever you want as long as Benjamin Steed or Josiah McBride happens to approve of it first?”
“You know that’s not what I’m—”
Nathan’s voice dropped to a bare whisper. “Grandpa must be real proud about now.”
For one moment, Benjamin felt the same blinding rage that had exploded in him the night in the saloon when Joshua had laughed at him. The very memory hit him like a blow alongside the head, nearly taking his breath away. He stepped back, his eyes burning, his chest heaving. Nathan’s eyes held his, full of condemnation, full of shame.
“I came here to help,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t need to stand here and take this.” In one movement he reached down and grabbed his tool bag, then spun on his heel and started for the door. As he grabbed the latch, he heard a strangled sob. He stopped, his flight arrested.
“No, Pa,” came the hoarse whisper from behind him. “Go. I don’t want your help.” There was an agonized silence for a moment, then, “I’m not proud to be your son anymore.”
The tinkling of the bell echoed through the store as Melissa shut the door, stopping to peer around the room. After the brightness of the sunshine, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she felt her hopes fall, for there was no one in the store except Josiah McBride. He was behind the counter, his account books spread before him, a quill pen in one hand. He looked up and smiled pleasantly. “Good morning, miss.”
Dropping the package to her side and moving it slightly behind her, Melissa moved slowly forward. “Good morning, Mr. McBride.”
“How may we help you?” He was still smiling, and it was obvious he had not yet recognized her. She decided she would capitalize on the advantage quickly.
“Is Miss Lydia here?”
He shook his head. “No. Lydia has gone with her mother and her aunt to Canandaigua to shop.”
“Oh.” There was no hiding her disappointment.
“She won’t be back until tomorrow night. Is there something I could help you with?”
Melissa bit her lip, considering the options quickly. She knew the importance of putting this into Lydia’s hand directly, but she also knew she had been lucky to get away and come to town without a major confrontation with her father. He had come back from Nathan’s, silent and withdrawn, and gone straight to the barn to work. When Melissa had approached him to ask permission to go to the village, quaking at the thought of what she would say if he asked her purpose, he had merely shrugged, brushing her away as if he hadn’t heard. Another day and she might not be so fortunate.
Then Josiah McBride took the decision out of her hands. His eyes had dropped and was looking at the package she had half-hidden behind her. “Is that something for Lydia?” he asked.
Slowly she brought it around, nodding. He reached out for it. She could only withhold it from him by making a lot of explanations. Reluctantly she handed it across to him. “Yes. I was asked to deliver this directly to Miss Lydia. Could you see she gets it?”
“Of course.” He smiled again. “Any message to go with it?”
Greatly relieved at his pleasant demeanor, Melissa shook her head. “No, thank you. If you will just see she gets it.”
“That I will.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded absently, set the package down, and was back to looking at the books even as she turned around and headed for the door, pausing once to look over her shoulder.
Josiah McBride realized his eyes had strayed once again to the package sitting on the counter beside him. Something was nagging at him and he finally set the pen aside and picked it up again. It was wrapped in plain brown paper tied neatly with a string. One word—
Lydia—
was written boldly on the front. He picked it up, looking more closely at the handwriting, knowing it looked vaguely familiar. It was definitely a book. He could feel its shape, and the weight of the package confirmed it.
Suddenly he started. The girl was a Steed. That was why she had looked familiar. He peered at Lydia’s name, a sick feeling coming over him. It was Nathan’s handwriting. That could mean only one thing. Looking quickly around the store and seeing he was still alone, he carefully untied the string and let the wrapping paper fall away. There was a sharp intake of breath when he saw the title of the book that now lay exposed before him.