The Work and the Glory Page 35

  “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.”

  “A man of integrity?”

  Benjamin nodded emphatically. “You know I have great respect for you, Martin. I’m just saying that giving Joseph three thousand dollars—”

  Again his hand came up, cutting Benjamin off. “I understand, but it’s important to me that you consider me an honest man.”

  “Of course I do.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, then stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of Benjamin, hands behind his back. “There’s something I must tell you, Ben.”

  “What?” Benjamin was puzzled by the somberness on Martin’s face.

  He stopped, turning to look at Benjamin, debating. Then he nodded, half to himself, as though finally convinced by some inner voice he was hearing. “What would you say if I told you I have seen the plates?”

  Benjamin leaned forward so quickly that he forgot about his arm and bumped it sharply against the table. He had to bite his lip quickly to stop from crying out.

  Martin’s voice lowered into an awed whisper. “What would you say if I told you I have seen the angel?”

  “What?” Benjamin had come half up out of his chair.

  Martin reached inside his jacket and withdrew a piece of foolscap, folded in thirds. He fingered it for a moment, watching Benjamin carefully. Only when Benjamin sat down again did he unfold it. He laid it on the table, smoothed it once with the palm of his hand, then turned it around and pushed it toward his friend. “This statement is going to be published in the front of the Book of Mormon.”

  Reeling, Benjamin continued to stare at Martin, feeling his flesh crawling a little. Then he reached for the paper and gingerly picked it up and began to read.

  THE TESTIMONY OF THREE WITNESSES

  Be it known unto all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people, unto whom this work shall come, that we, through the grace of God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, have seen the plates which contain this record, which is a record of the people of Nephi, and also of the Lamanites, his brethren, and also of the people of Jared, which came from the tower, of which hath been spoken; and we also know that they have been translated by the gift and power of God, for his voice hath declared it unto us; wherefore we know of a surety, that the work is true. And we also testify that we have seen the engravings which are upon the plates; and they have been shewn unto us by the power of God, and not of man. And we declare with words of soberness, that an Angel of God came down from heaven, and he brought and laid before our eyes, that we beheld and saw the plates, and the engravings thereon; and we know that it is by the grace of God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, that we beheld and bear record that these things are true; and it is marvellous in our eyes: Nevertheless, the voice of the Lord commanded us that we should bear record of it; wherefore, to be obedient unto the commandments of God, we bear testimony of these things. And we know that if we are faithful in Christ, we shall rid our garments of the blood of all men, and be found spotless before the judgement seat of Christ, and shall dwell with him eternally in the heavens. And the honor be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, which is one God. Amen.

  At the bottom were three signatures—Oliver Cowdery’s, David Whitmer’s and, in bold strokes, that of Martin Harris.

  He looked up. Martin was nodding at him. Quickly he looked down and read it through again, this time more slowly.

  “As Joseph neared completion of the Book of Mormon,” Martin said softly when he finally finished, “he came across a passage of great interest. It said that three witnesses would be chosen and by the power of God they would see the plates and be asked to bear their testimony to the world.”

  His eyes were shining, and his voice was suddenly heavy with emotion. “I asked Joseph if I could be one of the witnesses. At that point he said the Lord had not designated who they would be. I felt unworthy—after losing the manuscript—but I wanted it so badly.”

  He sighed deeply. “Then about a month ago now, I accompanied Father and Mother Smith to Fayette to see Joseph. The translation was nearly done, and again I asked Joseph if I could be one of the witnesses. Again Joseph said it was not his will which prevailed in these matters, but the Lord’s. But then Joseph received a revelation for me, Oliver, and David Whitmer. It said that if we were faithful we could be the ones chosen to see the plates.

  “A short time later, we had our usual morning worship service—we read from the scriptures, sang some hymns, and prayed. As we rose from our knees, Joseph reached out and took my hand. Speaking with a solemnity that even now sends chills up and down my back, he said, ‘Martin Harris, you have got to humble yourself before God this day, that you may obtain a forgiveness of your sins. If you do, it is the will of God that you should look upon the plates, in company with Oliver Cowdery and David Whitmer.’”

  Tears welled up in the older man’s eyes, but he seemed unaware of them. “We went to a stand of trees not far from the cabin in which we were staying. There we knelt down and began to pray with much faith that the Lord would give us the realization of the promises he had made. We each prayed in turn, Joseph beginning, followed by the three of us in succession.”

  “What happened?�
�� Benjamin asked, surprising even himself.

  Martin’s voice was a sound of deep pain. “Nothing.”

  Benjamin sat back, strangely disappointed, and yet at the same time immensely relieved. And yet—

  “We began again, each praying in turn once more.” Now the lines on Martin’s face were etched with sorrow. “Again nothing happened. I knew what was wrong. It was me. The Lord was still displeased with me. I knew it! Deeply distressed, I stood and told the three of them to continue without me and I withdrew.”

  “And did they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I will tell you first of what happened to me.”

  Benjamin noted that Martin’s nervousness was gone now. His hands were folded comfortably across his chest and he seemed in repose. “I went some distance away and began to importune the Lord, pleading for his forgiveness. Still nothing happened. Then on a sudden, Joseph came through the trees. He was very excited. He told me the angel had appeared to them, that he had shown the plates to Oliver and David.”

  “The angel?” Benjamin asked slowly.

  Martin’s eyes came up to meet Benjamin’s. “Yes, the angel Moroni. The same that first delivered the plates to Joseph.” He was shaking his head slowly. “As you can imagine, I was shattered. The thing I most longed for was to be denied me. I begged Joseph to join with me in prayer to see if we could not prevail.”

  Benjamin’s eyes never left Martin’s. His voice had dropped almost to a whisper, and Benjamin leaned forward slightly to better catch his words. “We began to pray together. I pleaded with the Lord as I have never asked for anything before. Suddenly I felt something.”

  Martin was looking at a spot directly above Benjamin’s head, as though something were there which left him transfixed. It was like hearing an unknown noise in a dark barn. Suddenly there were chills coursing up Benjamin’s back.

  “I looked up. There above us in the air, a light had appeared. The light was more brilliant than the morning sun in the heavens, and in that moment, my heart was filled with an inexpressible joy, for I knew I was about to receive that for which I had been longing so much.” He stopped, his eyes halfclosed, his face radiant. “In the midst of the light was a heavenly being. It was the angel Moroni.”

  “You actually saw him?” Benjamin breathed.

  Martin nodded solemnly. “He was no further than five or six feet away from me. There was a table in front of him. On it were the gold plates and other sacred articles, including the Urim and Thummim. The angel took the plates and stepped forward. He showed them to me, turning the leaves over one by one so I could distinctly see the engravings on them. The characters were just like the ones Joseph had copied for me and which I took to New York City.”

  “Were the plates really gold?” Benjamin breathed.

  “Yes. They were about six inches by nine inches.” Martin held up his hands to demonstrate. “Each plate was about the thickness of heavy parchment, and there were many of them. They were bound together like the leaves of a book, with three metal rings which passed through the back edges. As I told you before, about two-thirds of the total plates were sealed with a metal band so they could not be opened.

  “Suddenly from out of the light, above and behind the angel, a voice spoke. ‘These plates,’ the voice proclaimed, ‘have been revealed by the power of God, and they have been translated by the power of God.’ Then it said that Joseph’s translation of the plates was correct. The voice then commanded us to bear record of what we saw and heard.”

  Silence filled the room, and Martin finally sat back, watching Benjamin calmly. “You said I shouldn’t risk three thousand dollars unless I am sure.” He smiled, and a beatific look crossed his face. “Well, Benjamin, I am sure. You have my most fervent testimony, Ben. I am sure!”

  Half an hour later, Benjamin still sat at the table. As he stared at the sheet of paper on the table before him, it occurred to him that the pain in his arm had subsided. So Lucy Harris’s brew did work, he mused briefly. He would have Mary Ann find out what was in it. That was a medicine worthy of having in the home.

  But almost immediately his thoughts came back to Martin Harris. He pushed at the paper, staring at the signatures. Benjamin did not know this Oliver Cowdery or David Whitmer, but he knew Martin Harris. It shook him more deeply than he could have imagined to have a respected friend and neighbor sit across the table from him and speak of seeing an angel.

  Before he left, Martin had told him there was another statement of testimony that would be published in the Book of Mormon, this time signed by eight men. Martin had recounted the circumstances behind this statement more matter-of-factly and with less emotion, but with no less conviction. Not long after Martin’s experience with the plates, Joseph traveled to the Palmyra area to make arrangements for printing the Book of Mormon. He was accompanied by four of the Whitmer sons-Christian, Jacob, Peter, Jr., and John—as well as Hiram Page, brother-in-law to the others. While they were staying at the Smith home, Joseph announced that the Lord was going to show the plates to eight more men—the five who had accompanied him from Fayette, plus Joseph’s father and his brothers Hyrum and Samuel. They retired to the woods near their home, this time with Joseph carrying the plates concealed in a knapsack. According to Martin, for this experience there was no angel, no miraculous appearing. Joseph simply uncovered the plates and there, in the light of day, allowed the witnesses to hold them, turn over the leaves, and examine them closely. They too had drafted a statement testifying to the experience and to the reality of the plates.

  “If you count Joseph, there are twelve testimonies, Benjamin,” Martin had intoned. “Put them in a jury box and you could convict or acquit any man in the land.” And that had shaken Benjamin nearly as deeply as Martin’s account of the angel. It was one thing to explain away Joseph, but eleven others? And yet—

  There was a soft knock on the door and Benjamin was spared from his thoughts. He stood, holding his arm and the heavy splint so he didn’t bump it. He moved to the door and opened it, wondering if Martin might have forgotten something. But as he saw who was standing there, his jaw dropped in surprise.

  “Hello, Mr. Steed.”

  It took him a moment to recover, and she smiled at his surprise.

  “Miss Lydia,” he finally managed. “But I thought you were in Boston.”

  “I returned by stage last night. Is Nathan home? I have to talk with him.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  As Nathan stepped onto the porch of the McBride home, he stopped and took quick stock of himself. He smoothed his hair back, pushing at the errant lock on the crown of his head that would never quite stay down. He lifted the bouquet of wild flowers he had picked from behind the cabin. Carefully, so as not to bump the blooms, he undid the wet rag he had wrapped around the stems, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it into the bushes. Then, with one last check of his coat and trousers, he took a quick breath and stepped to the door. He knocked sharply, eagerness lending energy to his motions.

  For a moment there was silence, then from somewhere inside the house he heard a door open and close and footsteps approaching. Nathan felt his heart drop a little. It was a woman’s footsteps, but they were not Lydia’s and that meant only one thing. The door opened and Lydia’s mother stood framed in the light from the lamp on the wall behind her.

  “Hello, Mrs. McBride.”

  Nathan had expected coolness, but the cold hostility in the woman’s face struck him like an open-handed slap. Nathan involuntarily fell back a step. “Is Lydia here?” he asked quickly, trying to regain his composure.

  Her eyes met his for a moment, then with a sniff of disdain she looked at the flowers he held in front of him.

  Slowly he let his hand drop to his side, feeling cheap and tarnished. “My father said Lydia is back home. She came out earlier—”

  “Wait here,” she snapped. She stepped back and shut the door firmly in his face.

  It was almost two full minut
es before the door opened and Lydia was standing inside. She was just wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. With a leap of joy Nathan stepped forward, but she was looking over her shoulder and not at him. He stopped as he heard the sound of heavy boots on the hardwood floor. In a moment her father appeared. He glanced at Nathan coldly, then turned to Lydia. She had not yet looked at Nathan. Her father laid a hand on her arm firmly. “Ten o’clock,” he said gruffly. “You’ve had a long journey.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  He shot Nathan another glance, then stepped back. Finally Lydia turned. She smiled at him, but it was faint and so fleeting as to leave him uncertain whether she had or not. As she stepped onto the porch beside him, Josiah McBride stuck his head out, jaw thrust forward. “Did you hear that, young man? Ten o’clock! Not one minute later.”

  The door shut loudly, cutting off Nathan’s mumbled “Yes, sir” even before it had begun. For a moment he stared at the door. He never expected bear hugs and shoulder thumping when he came to Lydia’s, but this? What was happening?

  “I’m sorry, Nathan,” Lydia said softly beside him. “They’re angry because I’m leaving them on my first night home.”

  In an instant her parents were forgotten. He stepped back for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, the pain suddenly making him wince. Ten months! How had they stood it? He swept her up in his arms, crushing her to him. “Lydia, Lydia,” he whispered, “is it really you?”

  “Yes, Nathan,” she said softly. Her arms came up to encircle him, but it was slow, hesitant. In his joy he didn’t notice. He stepped back, holding out the flowers toward her.

  “Why, Nathan,” she said, for the first time really smiling, “how sweet of you! Thank you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he demanded. “I would have been waiting at the livery stable when the stage came.”