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Authors: Michael Wallace
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white shirt. And he was doubly sensitive to fundamentalist Mormons. Cut a man’s hair, his beard, get the woman out of the prairie dress and put her in jeans and a tank-top. Didn’t matter. A child raised in plural marriage carried a mark for life.
The three men dressed in white shirts and ties, but the beards—close cropped though they were—gave them away. Jacob pretended he didn’t see them. He found an empty spot on the grass, sat and watched the pageant for a few minutes. Shortly, one of the men came and sat a couple of feet away.
“What do you think of the pageant?”
“Not bad,” Jacob said without turning from the show. “Except they’ve turned Joseph Smith into a Hollywood caricature.”
“Most of these people wouldn’t recognize a real prophet if he parted the Red Sea.”
“Maybe because they’ve spent too long following a false one.” Jacob turned and looked at the speaker. It was dark, and hard to pick out the man’s features. “I’ve met several prophets. Some are more impressive than others.”
“Careful, brother. That sounds like blasphemy.”
“Many men are called to prophesy,” Jacob answered in an even tone. “But only one is ever called to lead the Saints.”
“Who are you?” the man asked. “And what are you doing here?”
“I am waiting for the One Mighty and Strong.”
The man drew in his breath. “Who told you to say that?”
“Nobody told me,” Jacob said. He thought about the missing woman, Sister Miriam. She had studied, she was good. But could any of that replace a lifetime of drinking scripture and prophecy? Of waiting for the end of the world?
“Then why did you say it?” the man asked.
Jacob decided to press. “I’ve studied the scriptures, prayed to the Lord for guidance. Look at these people. They’re lost, confused. They let go of the iron rod and they need someone to bring them back.”
The iron rod, from the prophet Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon, was the only way through the mists and darkness of the world. The evil sat at a distance, in a great and spacious building, mocking the believers, many of whom would let go of the iron rod and be lost. Isn’t that what had happened to the LDS church? The world had mocked and persecuted until the church surrendered its true principles. Not only did it give up plural marriage, it now condemned those who’d held true.
“Someone to bring them back?” the man asked.
“The One Mighty and Strong. Joseph Smith prophesied he’d come in the last days to gather the saints, bring them back to the Lord. I think that day has come.”
“And you are looking for him?”
“I don’t need to look for him,” Jacob said. “When the time comes, he will find me.”
The man was quiet. Jacob could almost hear him thinking. When he spoke, his voice was low, with a sharp, tight edge. “Thou art in great danger, Brother. Thy soul is at risk, as is thy mortal existence.”
“By what authority do you threaten me?” Jacob asked.
The man moved closer until he sat with his face intimately close to Jacob’s. A sudden illumination from the hillside, together with the sounds of simulated battle and a voice crying out to God. In the light, Jacob could see the intensity burning in the man’s eyes. A hunting wolf, closing in on his prey. He was bearded, with full lips and a prominent nose, slightly askew. And young, maybe no older than thirty.
Brother Timothy. He was speaking to the prophet himself.
“Tell me truthfully,” Brother Timothy said. “Who sent thee?”
After Jacob and Fernie put the kids down last night, he prepared a speech for his wife. It was a terrible thing to ask.
Dear, I’m going to vanish for a while. How long? Hard to say. Days? Weeks. What’s that? No, I can’t call to let you know I’m okay. Too dangerous.
It was obvious throughout the evening that Fernie knew the conversation was coming. She was quiet, pensive. After the older two went down, they bathed the baby together and he
The three men dressed in white shirts and ties, but the beards—close cropped though they were—gave them away. Jacob pretended he didn’t see them. He found an empty spot on the grass, sat and watched the pageant for a few minutes. Shortly, one of the men came and sat a couple of feet away.
“What do you think of the pageant?”
“Not bad,” Jacob said without turning from the show. “Except they’ve turned Joseph Smith into a Hollywood caricature.”
“Most of these people wouldn’t recognize a real prophet if he parted the Red Sea.”
“Maybe because they’ve spent too long following a false one.” Jacob turned and looked at the speaker. It was dark, and hard to pick out the man’s features. “I’ve met several prophets. Some are more impressive than others.”
“Careful, brother. That sounds like blasphemy.”
“Many men are called to prophesy,” Jacob answered in an even tone. “But only one is ever called to lead the Saints.”
“Who are you?” the man asked. “And what are you doing here?”
“I am waiting for the One Mighty and Strong.”
The man drew in his breath. “Who told you to say that?”
“Nobody told me,” Jacob said. He thought about the missing woman, Sister Miriam. She had studied, she was good. But could any of that replace a lifetime of drinking scripture and prophecy? Of waiting for the end of the world?
“Then why did you say it?” the man asked.
Jacob decided to press. “I’ve studied the scriptures, prayed to the Lord for guidance. Look at these people. They’re lost, confused. They let go of the iron rod and they need someone to bring them back.”
The iron rod, from the prophet Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon, was the only way through the mists and darkness of the world. The evil sat at a distance, in a great and spacious building, mocking the believers, many of whom would let go of the iron rod and be lost. Isn’t that what had happened to the LDS church? The world had mocked and persecuted until the church surrendered its true principles. Not only did it give up plural marriage, it now condemned those who’d held true.
“Someone to bring them back?” the man asked.
“The One Mighty and Strong. Joseph Smith prophesied he’d come in the last days to gather the saints, bring them back to the Lord. I think that day has come.”
“And you are looking for him?”
“I don’t need to look for him,” Jacob said. “When the time comes, he will find me.”
The man was quiet. Jacob could almost hear him thinking. When he spoke, his voice was low, with a sharp, tight edge. “Thou art in great danger, Brother. Thy soul is at risk, as is thy mortal existence.”
“By what authority do you threaten me?” Jacob asked.
The man moved closer until he sat with his face intimately close to Jacob’s. A sudden illumination from the hillside, together with the sounds of simulated battle and a voice crying out to God. In the light, Jacob could see the intensity burning in the man’s eyes. A hunting wolf, closing in on his prey. He was bearded, with full lips and a prominent nose, slightly askew. And young, maybe no older than thirty.
Brother Timothy. He was speaking to the prophet himself.
“Tell me truthfully,” Brother Timothy said. “Who sent thee?”
After Jacob and Fernie put the kids down last night, he prepared a speech for his wife. It was a terrible thing to ask.
Dear, I’m going to vanish for a while. How long? Hard to say. Days? Weeks. What’s that? No, I can’t call to let you know I’m okay. Too dangerous.
It was obvious throughout the evening that Fernie knew the conversation was coming. She was quiet, pensive. After the older two went down, they bathed the baby together and he
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