The Veil Page 10

  John chuckled. “One thing you can always count on among the Saints is making a good tale better.” He threw his head back and started to laugh. “Why, just the other day I heard—”

  Lucas interrupted, leaning forward in his seat. “This didn’t come to me as a tidbit of gossip.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “That you’ve asked Sophronia for permission to court Hannah.”

  John fixed his gaze on the younger man. Then a half-smile curved his lips. “Well, yes, son. That’s true. I have indeed. It’s about time someone took those two under his wing.”

  “Those two?”

  John smiled. “They both need looking after, and given the option, Hannah is certainly more marriageable than Sophronia.” He chuckled and settled back into his chair, crossing one booted foot over the other. “Though God’s revelation to the Prophet clearly states, ‘If any man espouse a virgin and desire to espouse another and the first give her consent, then is he justified; he cannot commit adultery, for they are given him … and if he have ten virgins given unto him by this law, he cannot commit adultery, for they belong to him; and they are given unto him—therefore is he justified.’“ He grinned. “And they’re both virgins. So maybe I’ll take them both.”

  Lucas controlled his growing anger. “And if your other wives do not give their consent?”

  “Ah, dear boy, but they will. You surely know about that revelation.”

  Lucas nodded. “You have the power to condemn any wife to eternal damnation if she refuses to give her consent.”

  “Yes, yes.” Then he sat forward seriously. “But you understand the reason for such justice, don’t you?”

  “As I said before, John. You’ve taught me well. Of course I know.” And he quoted from God’s revelation to Joseph Smith: “‘Then shall they be gods … from everlasting to everlasting … because they have all power, and the angels are subject unto them.’”

  John nodded. “‘Then shall they be gods,’“ he repeated, “and goddesses.” Then he paused. “Do you see the seriousness of this, son? I don’t look lightly upon the prospect of another marriage—or two. It is a consideration of utter seriousness, of eternal consequence.”

  Lucas pressed on. “Hannah’s barely more than a child. She’s only twenty.” He wanted to say more, but knew the power of John’s quick anger. He needed to appear reasonable yet strong to talk John out of any claim to Hannah.

  “Most marry much younger than she is now. You know that.” John’s unblinking gaze seemed to look right through Lucas. “Is there something else?” When Lucas didn’t answer, he continued. “I’m your spiritual father, Luke, and I care for you as if you were my own flesh and blood. I’m here to give you spiritual guidance, give you any help I can. Please tell me what’s eating at you.”

  “It’s just that Hannah and I have been close. It’s always been assumed, well, that we would marry,” Lucas began, then paused. How could he explain Hannah’s importance in his life, hers and Sophronia’s? He frowned. “That is,” he began again, “I had always intended to—”

  John sat forward, interrupting. “Hannah McClary. Your intended? Are you courting her? Have you asked for her hand?”

  “No, no. Not officially.”

  “Lucas, Lucas,” John said, warmth returning to his voice. “I had no idea you were sweet on that little beauty.”

  Lucas felt his face flush, and he fought to keep his growing anger in check. “Hannah’s much more than a little beauty,’ John.”

  “That she is,” the older man agreed, raising an eyebrow. “That she is.” He paused. “Now, you say that you haven’t spoken your intentions to the young woman.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Am I correct in assuming that you intend to court her?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And of course that explains your reaction to my intentions toward the little miss.” His voice was calm, reasonable. “You’d like for me to leave the courting of Hannah McClary to you.”

  Lucas stared at the man. He knew John Steele didn’t give up easily. He nodded. “Yes. That’s correct.”

  John crossed his legs at the ankles and clasped his hands behind his head. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully when he again spoke. “Think about what I can offer Hannah that you cannot. I plan to build Hannah a fine ranch near Cedar City. She and Sophronia can live there from now till kingdom come, if they like. You live in the barest of circumstances, and with your traveling missions for the Church, you can’t offer Hannah much of a permanent home of any kind.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you plan to move into Sophronia’s home?”

  “A home for them is not the issue, John. Hannah doesn’t hold such finery as you have of much account. It doesn’t matter to her, or to Sophronia.”

  “Then lets consider the future.” John settled back in his chair again, a smile on his face. “You know what my standing in the Church will bring for Hannah.”

  Lucas knew only too well. He must keep the commandments to become a god and king of his own world in the hereafter. God, the heavenly Father, had been a mortal at one time, and through good works and keeping the commandments, he’d risen through the hierarchy of heaven to become God the Father over earth. John Steele—and every male Saint—knew the same powers would be theirs if they kept their endowment vows and the vows of their priesthood, Aaronic and Melchizedek. He’d come full circle, back to the issue of the priesthood—the issue of obedience.

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, I know what you can offer.” He again thought about the celestial marriage. Through her marriage to John, Hannah would be exalted, even someday worshiped as a goddess herself, as long as she obeyed her husband. Together, John’s family of wives would populate their own world with spiritual children that would someday be born into the earthly bodies of worthy Mormon women.

  Lucas let out a deep sigh. “I know what you can offer Hannah that I cannot,” he repeated. “At least not yet.”

  “Another reason for your obedience, son,” he said gently and reached over to pat Lucas on the knee. “Perhaps this is the impetus you need to prove yourself once and for all, to the Prophet, to the apostles, to all the brotherhood of priests. There’s nothing like love to spur a man to action.”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “I know your aversion to killing, even in the name of blood atonement. Someday you will have to perform that duty, and perhaps you need some additional training before taking the oath and truly becoming one of us. But first I want you to make another journey on behalf of the Church.”

  “To England?”

  John smiled again. “Harriet must have mentioned it.”

  “She did.”

  “Actually, Wales and Scotland as well as England. There’s a rumor of a coming war with the States. We need more people—strong, young men, as many as you can convert—in this valley to stand against the armed forces that are sure to come.” He paused. “It’s an important task, son. One might even call it a mission. One of supreme importance. And I want you to lead it.”

  When Lucas didn’t answer, John continued, “While you are gone, I want you to consider your duties as a Mormon. If you feel you are deserving of such a fine young Saint as Hannah when you return, then you can marry at once—with my blessing, son.”

  Lucas nodded slowly, considering John’s words. Maybe this mission would help him decide about his commitment to the Church. He would be away from the growing pressure to participate in the Danites’ vengeance against apostates and Gentiles. “I’ll agree,” he said, “but first I would like to speak to Hannah of my intentions.”

  “Perhaps it would be wise to first test your devotion to our heavenly Father, Luke. I would advise you to say nothing of your plans until you know that you can fulfill them. What if, upon your return, you still cannot take the Danite oath, become one with us? Would it be fair for dear Hannah to have waited for naught—” He paused, staring into Lucas’s face. “—only to have her hopes dashed because you
are not worthy, a keeper of your covenant?”

  “You are right, sir,” Lucas conceded at last, nodding slowly. “You are right.” Then he added, “I would also like your word that you will not court Hannah or Sophronia in my absence.”

  “I give you my word, son.”

  Lucas nodded and shook John’s hand as they both stood. “It’s settled, then,” John said, then paused for a moment before continuing. “You’ll have one other responsibility on this mission.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Prophet has asked that you bring Emmas niece over from London. A pretty little thing and rather delicate. She’ll need special care along the way.”

  “All right. What’s her name?”

  “Evangeline Cooper.” John gave him instructions on how to find the girl. “The Prophet has handpicked a groom for her. She’ll be marrying as soon as she arrives in the valley.” And he gave Lucas the date they would be expected back.

  Lucas smiled. “I’ll see to it that she’s here in time for her wedding,” he said, chuckling. “Ribbons and bonnets and gowns and all.” He knew Emma Young’s reputation for finery, and he figured her niece would share the same feminine inclinations. “I’m to take the usual route?”

  The older man nodded. “Yes. The Overland Trail to St. Louis, and from there make your way to New York.”

  “I’ll leave in three days.” His mind was immediately drawn to Hannah, and he tried not to think about how difficult it would be to say good-bye.

  “That’s settled, then. I knew I could count on you, son.” John led the way across the porch to the wide stairs. “There’s something else I want you to do for me.”

  “Name it.” Lucas had reached the stairs and turned again to face John.

  “There will be wild rumors on the trail about the coming war. We don’t know if troops will be sent this year or next, but if you hear anything significant, find out every detail you can, then ride like the wind back here.”

  “I will. You can rest assured.” Lucas stuck out his hand to shake the older man’s.

  “I thought so, son. But before you go, there’s a meeting I’d like for you to attend after services tomorrow morning.”

  “Is that an order?”

  John didn’t smile. “Yes. Actually, it is.” The younger man nodded slowly. “Then I’ll be there.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Lucas.” He paused. “I hope I always can.”

  But Lucas didn’t answer. He headed down the stone walkway, let himself through the gate, then mounted the tall black stallion he called Spitfire. Glancing up at the porch where John stood watching him, Lucas raised his hand in a salute.

  John Steele gave Lucas a return wave, but his expression was unreadable. Lucas nudged Spitfire in the flanks and headed back through town.

  SEVEN

  That night in his small cabin at the edge of the grassy hills near the Wasatch Mountains, Lucas agonized over his coming mission. Long past midnight he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Harsh moonlight streaked through the room’s single window, creating ghostly patterns of shadow and light.

  Outside, an owl screeched mournfully from a stand of aspen and was answered by another a distance away. As he listened a thought kept forming from someplace deep inside him: Take Hannah and Sophronia and escape. Without turning back. Without thought for the present, the future, or even eternity. Flee!

  He pushed the idea from his mind and focused instead on the Church, his calling, his priesthood, those good Saints who had taken him in as an orphan. They had sheltered him. Loved him. Become his family. He’d read the Book of Mormon and, on his knees, asked the Spirit for confirmation that the book was true—just as all new seekers were told to do.

  When the burning—like so many dancing flames of fire—filled his heart, Lucas had decided the Book of Mormon was truth itself. God had restored the gospel to this generation through his chosen one, Joseph Smith.

  But Lucas wanted more. He yearned for God, yearned to be a worthy priest of the highest order. He’d done his best to keep the vows of holy priesthood. He’d taken seriously his oath to avenge the blood of the fallen Prophets, Joseph and his brother, Hyrum Smith. His right arm had been anointed to make it strong to avenge the blood of the fallen Saints, to take revenge against the government of the United States.

  He had pledged obedience in all things, understanding full well that disobedience would mean that his throat would be cut from ear to ear, his bowels torn out, his heart ripped from his body—those very actions had been acted out symbolically when he said his vows. He had never been given the direct order to kill, yet when the time came—when John thought he was at last ready—he did not think he could obey. Yet to leave the priesthood, to become apostate, invited certain death. That’s what the Avenging Angels were all about. Fleeing—as something deep inside him commanded—would bring down vengeance, perhaps even death, on Hannah, Sophronia, and himself.

  Could he risk harming those he loved? He had no solid reason for fleeing. It was merely a feeling in the pit of his stomach. If, as he had asked about in prayer, the Book of Mormon was true, and if the Prophet spoke words, prophecies, sent from God himself, shouldn’t they all stay in the valley of the Saints?

  Shouldn’t they obey without question so that godhood and the highest place in paradise would be theirs?

  Lucas let out a deep sigh and threw off the covers. He swung his legs to the floor and walked to the window to look out at the moonlit night. The sounds of crickets and frogs carried on the breeze from a nearby mountain spring. He wondered if his dark thoughts were a test of some kind. Maybe they were from the devil himself. Or maybe God was testing him to see if he was truly worthy of godhood.

  He considered the millions of glowing stars and planets, the heavens that seemed to stretch into eternity. Was God testing his obedience? Or testing his devotion to the Church?

  If he blindly obeyed the Prophet’s bidding, then Hannah would be his for all eternity once he returned. He would be spending days on the trail and then on a ship, alone. Perhaps John had known Lucas needed time in solitude to contemplate his calling as part of the Avenging Angels, as part of the Melchizedek priesthood.

  Lucas fixed his gaze on a distant star and wondered what it would be like to be king of his own planet—his kingdom, with Hannah at his side as his goddess queen.

  He suddenly grinned. He could almost hear Sophronia saying, “Hogwash, boy. That’s just plain old hogwash.”

  He turned from the window and lay back on his cornhusk bed, pulling up the covers. But his smile quickly disappeared, and he spent the rest of the night tossing in worry about Hannah and Sophronia. In his dreams he saw them dragged before the apostles, accused of apostasy. He called out to Aunt Sophie, warning her to remain silent, but she didn’t hear him.

  Instead, she shook her fist at the Prophet. When she spoke, her words were in the language of strange tongues, often spoken by the holiest of Saints. Her wild, white hair reflected the sun, and she was shouting words Lucas couldn’t understand. But they held the truth; he knew they did; he just couldn’t understand them, not one word.

  Sophie’s eyes, full of love and compassion, met his, then she and Hannah were dragged away. Hannah cried and reached out to Lucas. But he couldn’t move; his limbs were limp. No matter how desperately he wanted to speak on her behalf, he remained mute.

  He awoke in a sweat then tossed and turned a while longer, finally arising before first light. For a long time he sat at his small wooden table, his head in his hands. At his elbow was the Book of Mormon, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the cover.

  When the sun had risen high that same morning, Hannah, with Sophronia beside her on the wagon bench, drove the high-stepping bay to Sunday services at the Saints’ meetinghouse, the bowery. Tying the horse to the hitching post, she helped her aunt step down from the wagon. Hannah took Sophronia’s arm as they moved up the wide stone stairs to the sanctuary entrance, where several people milled about and children
skipped and jumped and played.

  They had nearly reached the top of the stairs when Lucas stepped through the entrance door to greet them, meeting Hannah’s gaze as if he’d been watching for her.

  She drew in a deep breath, regarding him as he walked toward them. Hannah wasn’t sure exactly when the transformation had taken place, but now, at twenty-seven, Lucas had become a man, weathered and tanned, the light in his eyes reminding her of the reflection of sunlight on deep green water.

  She swallowed hard. “Good morning, Lucas.”

  He nodded, and they exchanged small talk about the weather and the upcoming sermon by the Prophet. As Lucas spoke, Hannah noticed that his expression didn’t match his lighthearted words.

  Sophronia was the first to mention it. “What is it, son? Is there something else you’re about to tell us?”

  “Sophie, you know me too well.” He grinned and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “And you’re right. I do have something I’m reluctant to tell.”

  “What is it?” Sophronia asked, not being one to wait for bad news. “I’m going away for a time.”

  Hannah felt as if her breath had just been squeezed from her lungs. “Going away?” she whispered. “Where?”

  “England,” he said. “And Wales and Scotland.”

  “Oh no,” Hannah whispered. “Not again.”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Another handcart immigration you’re bringing across?” Sophronia said, raising an eyebrow.

  “You know me better than that, Sophie.”

  “Do you want to go?” Hannah asked, fighting the urge to gather him into her arms and never let go. “Was it an order, or did you volunteer?”

  Lucas didn’t answer.

  Sophronia broke the silence. “You’ve got Brigham’s ear, son. And John Steele’s too. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” She took hold of Lucas’s forearm. “You know as well as I do that the Prophet isn’t always right. Just think how wrong he was when he made those poor things cross the Great Plains pulling carts as though they were pack mules.” She shook her head, and Hannah was glad to see some of her aunt’s spirit had returned. “Sometimes,” she continued, lifting her chin, “sometimes the Prophet doesn’t know the difference between his nose and a donkey’s—”