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Authors: Michael Wallace
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marry.”
“The Spirit told you.”
“I know it, Brother Timothy. I just do.” He didn’t answer and she stammered. “I-I don’t know. I’m just a girl. My father said girls don’t choose, but I felt, I thought I…”
“Your father is right,” Brother Timothy said. “It’s usually the father, together with the prophet who chooses. Usually.” A thoughtful note entered his voice. “I’ll need to take it to the Lord in prayer. Who is this man?”
“His name is Jacob Christianson, and he’s a doctor at Sanpete County.”
“Who?” A sharp edge entered his voice and he fixed her with a piercing look that made her shrink.
“My mother said he was the son of a polygamist leader in Blister Creek, that he was a good man, ready for the Gathering, and I thought if you spoke with him, he could, well, you know, you could tell him…”
Brother Timothy turned back to his hoeing and Emma watched him for a long minute, afraid, and uncertain if he was done with her and if she should turn and go. But then he stopped and leaned against his hoe again.
“Yes, I’ve heard of him. Brother Clarence and I were discussing him just the other day. Jacob Christianson is a proud man who puts himself above the Lord.” This confused Emma, who couldn’t square that with the gentle, kind man she’d met at the hospital. “But he’s a good man, if you could just talk to him, I know he’d listen.”
“Why is this man here, so close to the church, yet he hasn’t gathered with the saints yet?” The prophet voiced the question, but it didn’t seem directed to Emma, so she didn’t answer. He turned to his pregnant wife, Sister Karen. “Get me Brother Clarence. Tell him we have to talk about Jacob Christianson.”
He walked over to Emma once Sister Karen had gone. “There’s something more here than just a girl who is ready to get married. What could that be?”
“I don’t know, I-I thought I was doing the right thing. I felt…I mean the Spirit…”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, you did the right thing in coming to me.”
“Does that mean that you’ll tell Jacob to marry me?”
“I don’t know yet, but I do know the Lord will give you what you deserve, Sister Emma.”
#
The wolves picked up Jacob’s scent as he made his way through the crowd. He felt them hunting him, the alpha male snarling to keep his lieutenants in line.
He was at the Manti Pageant, surrounded by thousands of Mormons, all come to see the spectacle on the hill. Floodlights dramatically lit the fortress-like temple and the wall that stretched across the hilltop. The pageant was a rough retelling of Mormon history, from the Angel Moroni leading Joseph Smith to the Gold Plates to scenes from the Book of Mormon, to the travails of the Mormon pioneers.
At the moment, a group of actors portrayed pioneers struggling across the frozen plains with handcarts. Some would die, others would emerge with strengthened faith. Melodrama. Monologues. Poignant moments.
Jacob didn’t stay still. He walked through the crowd, chatted with a couple who’d just returned from a mission to Nauvoo, Illinois, volleyed Biblical verses with the evangelical Christians who’d staked a position across the street to witness to the Mormons attending the pageant. The night was cool, with a breeze from the west that smelled like the desert: sage and sand and sun-baked rock.
Before long, he could see the two men. Jacob spotted the third about twenty minutes later. This last man seemed to be directing the other pair.
A gay roommate at the U (now there was an eye-opening experience for a young man from a polygamist family) had once told Jacob he possessed an ability he called gaydar. It was his supposed ability to pick a fellow gay man from a crowd based on speech and mannerism.
Short of a gay pride t-shirt, Jacob had no clue about gaydar, but he could spot a Mormon at a hundred yards. Accent, mannerism, the “Mormon smile” of religious undergarments beneath a
“The Spirit told you.”
“I know it, Brother Timothy. I just do.” He didn’t answer and she stammered. “I-I don’t know. I’m just a girl. My father said girls don’t choose, but I felt, I thought I…”
“Your father is right,” Brother Timothy said. “It’s usually the father, together with the prophet who chooses. Usually.” A thoughtful note entered his voice. “I’ll need to take it to the Lord in prayer. Who is this man?”
“His name is Jacob Christianson, and he’s a doctor at Sanpete County.”
“Who?” A sharp edge entered his voice and he fixed her with a piercing look that made her shrink.
“My mother said he was the son of a polygamist leader in Blister Creek, that he was a good man, ready for the Gathering, and I thought if you spoke with him, he could, well, you know, you could tell him…”
Brother Timothy turned back to his hoeing and Emma watched him for a long minute, afraid, and uncertain if he was done with her and if she should turn and go. But then he stopped and leaned against his hoe again.
“Yes, I’ve heard of him. Brother Clarence and I were discussing him just the other day. Jacob Christianson is a proud man who puts himself above the Lord.” This confused Emma, who couldn’t square that with the gentle, kind man she’d met at the hospital. “But he’s a good man, if you could just talk to him, I know he’d listen.”
“Why is this man here, so close to the church, yet he hasn’t gathered with the saints yet?” The prophet voiced the question, but it didn’t seem directed to Emma, so she didn’t answer. He turned to his pregnant wife, Sister Karen. “Get me Brother Clarence. Tell him we have to talk about Jacob Christianson.”
He walked over to Emma once Sister Karen had gone. “There’s something more here than just a girl who is ready to get married. What could that be?”
“I don’t know, I-I thought I was doing the right thing. I felt…I mean the Spirit…”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, you did the right thing in coming to me.”
“Does that mean that you’ll tell Jacob to marry me?”
“I don’t know yet, but I do know the Lord will give you what you deserve, Sister Emma.”
#
The wolves picked up Jacob’s scent as he made his way through the crowd. He felt them hunting him, the alpha male snarling to keep his lieutenants in line.
He was at the Manti Pageant, surrounded by thousands of Mormons, all come to see the spectacle on the hill. Floodlights dramatically lit the fortress-like temple and the wall that stretched across the hilltop. The pageant was a rough retelling of Mormon history, from the Angel Moroni leading Joseph Smith to the Gold Plates to scenes from the Book of Mormon, to the travails of the Mormon pioneers.
At the moment, a group of actors portrayed pioneers struggling across the frozen plains with handcarts. Some would die, others would emerge with strengthened faith. Melodrama. Monologues. Poignant moments.
Jacob didn’t stay still. He walked through the crowd, chatted with a couple who’d just returned from a mission to Nauvoo, Illinois, volleyed Biblical verses with the evangelical Christians who’d staked a position across the street to witness to the Mormons attending the pageant. The night was cool, with a breeze from the west that smelled like the desert: sage and sand and sun-baked rock.
Before long, he could see the two men. Jacob spotted the third about twenty minutes later. This last man seemed to be directing the other pair.
A gay roommate at the U (now there was an eye-opening experience for a young man from a polygamist family) had once told Jacob he possessed an ability he called gaydar. It was his supposed ability to pick a fellow gay man from a crowd based on speech and mannerism.
Short of a gay pride t-shirt, Jacob had no clue about gaydar, but he could spot a Mormon at a hundred yards. Accent, mannerism, the “Mormon smile” of religious undergarments beneath a
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