The Work and the Glory (39 page)

“Like the ones in Palmyra?” Nathan asked.

“The same. They threatened to mob us and take away the plates if I did not cease ‘this work of the devil.’ Fortunately, my father-in-law has become more friendly towards me now. He also has no tolerance for unlawful proceedings and was able to dissuade them from their intent.”

“But it isn’t finished,” Oliver said quietly. “They’ll be back.”

“Yes,” Joseph said, momentarily darkening. But then almost instantly he smiled again. “But the Lord has shown us the way to go. You’ll be pleased to know we’re coming back to New York.”

“To Palmyra?” Nathan was taken aback. That was hardly a solution.

Joseph shook his head. “No. Oliver has made friends with a family in Fayette Township, about twenty miles south of Palmyra. We’ve written to see if they will take us in until we can complete the translation.”

“That’s wonderful, Joseph. Mother will be thrilled. She is anxiously awaiting any news of how the work progresses.”

“Well, tell her it progresses well. Since Oliver has come we have finished nearly two-thirds of the record.”

Both Nathan and Joseph Knight looked up quickly. “Two-thirds?” Knight echoed.

“Yes. We work most of the day, and often into the night. Oliver has been a godsend.”

“So you have redone the pages which were lost by Mr. Harris?”

Joseph sobered almost instantly and shook his head.

“No?” Nathan was surprised.

“I forgot you didn’t know. So much has happened since we last talked.”

“Tell me.”

Joseph leaned against the wagon wheel. “When I returned to Harmony and finally found favor again with the Lord, it was revealed to me that I was not to retranslate the portion I had already done.”

“But why?”

“Because Satan had put it into the hearts of those who had the first pages to set a trap for me.”

Even Knight seemed not to be aware of this, and Nathan saw he was listening intently.

“It was really very clever. They had the first copy of the manuscript. If I retranslated the same section, they had a perfect opportunity. They were hoping there would be differences, so they could show them to people and ‘prove’ I was a fraud. Even if I did produce a second copy exactly like the first…”

He left it unfinished, and Nathan started as he realized what Joseph was saying. “If it was the same, they would change the original.”

Joseph nodded. “Either way, they would use it to discredit me. Or so they thought. The Lord simply told me not to retranslate it, but to go on from where I had left off.”

“But…” Knight was troubled. “So we’ll never have those original pages in the record.”

Joseph frowned. “Not for now, Mr. Knight. But it is all right. The Lord knew of these things and prepared for them.”

Nathan looked puzzled.

Oliver explained. “When Mormon—he is the ancient prophet who compiled and abridged the records—”

“That’s why it’s called the Book of Mormon,” Samuel volunteered.

“Yes,” Oliver continued. “Anyway, Mormon was abridging all of the records of this ancient people. The one hundred and sixteen pages Joseph had already translated was the first portion of the history. But at that point, Mormon found another set of plates among all the records. They covered the same period of time he had already abridged, but these plates were different. They focused on the more spiritual portion of the history. So Mormon inserted them into his record just as they were, without abridging them.”

Joseph was nodding. “In other words, we had a double coverage of the first portion of the Book of Mormon. I had finished the first section when I left off the translating and gave the manuscript to Martin.”

Now Nathan understood what Joseph was saying. “So when you started again, you just went on to the section that repeated the same history.”

“Well, not exactly,” Oliver said. “When I came down and became Joseph’s scribe, we started in a different place in the translation. But we’ll go back later and take in the period that the lost pages of manuscript covered, only we’ll do that by translating the unabridged plates Mormon inserted. So eventually we’ll have the same coverage but a better record than the first part that was lost.”

“Yes,” Joseph said, giving Nathan a rueful smile. “Do you realize what Oliver is saying? More than a thousand years before I was born the Lord knew I would be foolish and not heed his counsel. So he inspired Mormon to add the other plates so the work would not be harmed.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine how that makes me feel?”

Oliver laid a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “But there were lessons to be learned, Joseph.”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed instantly. “And I have learned them. First, I have learned not to trust in the arm of flesh. I must be obedient to the Lord’s counsel under all circumstances. Second, I have learned God’s wisdom is greater than the cunning of the devil. This is God’s work and it will not be stopped.”

Behind them the door to the cabin opened again. “Joseph.”

All four men turned to where Emma was standing in the doorway.

She smiled a little hesitantly. “There’ll be food on the table in about five minutes. Perhaps you ought to get the wagon unloaded.”

“Yes, of course.” Joseph turned back, chuckling. “Emma always has to remind me. I get so carried away with conversation, I forget what it is I’m supposed to be doing.”

As they walked around to the back of the wagon, Joseph suddenly put an arm around Nathan’s shoulder, pulling him in against his own. “Ah, Nathan, it is a boon to have you with us. Thank you for coming.”

The moon was nearly to its fullest stage and the river diffused its rays into a thousand points of shimmering light. Nathan stood for a moment and looked across the water. Here, behind Joseph’s home, the river was at least a hundred yards across. Nearby, a fox barked once sharply, then all was quiet. He sat down on the trunk of a huge river birch that years before had been undercut by the current and toppled into the water. He sat for a moment, breathing deeply, savoring the smell of the river and the spring flowers dotting the banks. Finally, he took out the letter from the inside of his jacket, holding the envelope for a moment, then extracting the two sheets and unfolding them carefully. Since it had arrived in Palmyra the week before he had returned to Harmony, the creases had been done and undone so many times that they were beginning to split open.

He moved a little so as to come out of the shadow of an overhanging branch, turning the sheets so as to catch the full light of the moon.

My dearest Nathan,

He stopped. Virtually every eligible young man in Palmyra and Manchester townships had vigorously sought Lydia’s favors. It still left him a little awestruck to think she had rejected all of them in favor of Nathan Steed.

The months seem to drag by ever more slowly now that summer has come again. I have truly fallen in love with the city of Boston and my stay here has been glorious, but I find myself barely able to keep my mind on my duties now. My heart constantly betrays me and my thoughts race forward to September when I shall finally return to you.

Nathan let his fingers run across the paper, feeling the light tracing of ink, telling himself he could catch the faintest wisp of her perfume. Three months! When they had parted, a year seemed like an interminable amount of time. And while, in retrospect, the nine months had passed quickly, now that the end was in sight three more months seemed like an eternity.

Behind him a branch cracked, and Nathan turned. A dark figure was coming down the path which led from the small cabin down to the river. He hurriedly folded the letter and slipped it inside his coat again.

“Nathan, is that you?”

“Yes. I’m down by the riverbank.”

Even if he had not called, Nathan would have recognized that it was Oliver Cowdery. The shortness of the figure and the narrowness of the shoulders clearly told it was not Joseph.

In a moment he was at Nathan’s side. He smiled and then turned to survey the current and the moon’s glowing path across the river. Finally, he sighed. “What a lovely evening!”

“Yes. I think summer has finally arrived.”

“May I sit with you? Joseph and Emma have gone over to visit with her parents. Samuel has gone into the village.”

Nathan slid down the log a little. “Of course. I was just enjoying the moonlight.”

“And I thought to do the same.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan watched Oliver as he sat down, squirming for a moment to adjust the boniness of his frame to a comfortable position. He had a pleasant face, which only revealed the man inside, and Nathan had found himself liking Joseph’s new scribe almost immediately.

After the dinner was over, Joseph Knight had started back, but he went alone, insisting Nathan stay another day so he could spend more time with Joseph. And so he had. After they had cleared the table, Nathan, Joseph, Samuel, and Oliver strolled out across the small homestead Joseph had purchased from Emma’s brother. Nathan was enthralled as they spoke of the sacred record unfolding as the work of translation progressed. Samuel eagerly spoke of the few pages he had been allowed to read. Oliver, who as primary scribe had written the majority of what had been done thus far, was awed. Joseph spoke up too, but often seemed content to let the other two share their excitement with Nathan.

The Book of Mormon. Nathan was still getting used to the name. About four hundred years after Christ, Mormon, under the direction of the Lord, had gathered all the records of his people and abridged them, writing them on the gold plates so they could be preserved for future generations. He had given the plates to his son, Moroni, before he died. It was Moroni who had buried them in the hill where they would lie hidden as the centuries came and went until the Lord saw fit to bring them forth. It was that same Moroni, Joseph declared solemnly, who as a resurrected and glorified being had appeared and directed him to the plates.

Oliver and Samuel could barely contain themselves as they described what they had learned thus far. A prophet living in Jerusalem about six hundred years before Christ had been warned to flee the city with his family before it was destroyed. They had wandered in the wilderness for some years, then under the direction of the Lord, had built a ship and sailed to the Americas. They worshipped Jesus, were led by prophets, performed miracles. “It is much like the Bible,” Oliver had exclaimed. “It is another record of God’s dealings with his children.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “You seem lost in thought,” he said.

“Yes,” Nathan agreed. “I was thinking of the Book of Mormon.” He turned to look at Oliver directly, his natural reticence giving way to the driving curiosity within him. “What is it like?” he finally asked softly. “What is it like to translate?”

Oliver stood, suddenly filled with an eagerness that could not be contained. “Ah, Nathan, it is an experience the likes of which I have never known.”

“Does he just read it to you?”

“In a way. He studies the writings carefully. Then he speaks slowly and distinctly, giving me the English one sentence at a time. When I am finished, I say, ‘Written,’ and read the sentence back to him. If it is correct, he then goes to the next. If I have missed something, he corrects me. But what is most amazing is that he does not correct himself. He never goes back and rewords a sentence. He does not hesitate or stammer. Some days we work for hours at a time in that manner. When we leave off the translation for meals or other things, he returns and picks up precisely where we left off. He does not ask to see the manuscript or have me read to him to help him find his place. It is as though there were no interruptions whatsoever.”

Nathan felt a sudden rush of envy at Oliver’s opportunity to be part of the actual process. “It must be wonderful.”

Oliver returned to sit by Nathan, nodding solemnly. “These are days never to be forgotten—to sit day after day under the sound of a voice dictated by the inspiration of heaven. How can I ever adequately express the gratitude I feel that the Lord should give me such a privilege?”

“I can hardly wait until I can read it.”

“I think if you asked, Joseph may let you look at some of the manuscript.” He shook his head sadly. “But after Martin Harris lost those pages, he’s very careful about letting it out of his hand.”

Nathan nodded, and they both lapsed into silence. Finally he looked over at Oliver, hesitant again, but the desire to know driving him. “What do they look like?”

Oliver’s head came up. “What? You mean the plates?”

“Yes.”

Oliver shook his head firmly. “Moroni has forbidden Joseph to show them to anyone. Not even Emma has seen them. He keeps them under a cloth whenever he is not working on them. Joseph has allowed both Emma and me to feel them under the cloth. But I have not actually seen them.”

Nathan was taken aback. “How can you not see them when you sit together as you work?”

Oliver leaned back a little, grasping one knee with his hands. “Joseph hangs a curtain between us. I sit on one side with pen and paper. Joseph sits on the other with the plates.”

Nathan considered that for a moment, putting himself there in his imagination. “Aren’t you ever tempted to peek?”

Oliver threw back his head and laughed. “More than you could ever imagine. But we’ve already learned the costs of disobedience, so I force myself to be patient.”

His last word caught Nathan’s attention. “Patient?”

He leaned forward eagerly. “Yes. Moroni has promised that when the time is right, the plates will be shown to a few faithful followers. I am determined I shall be obedient so I may be one of them.”

Nathan stood now, feeling a sudden restlessness. He looked up at the fulness of the moon. “My mother is anxious to hear how things are coming. I will have to write to her tomorrow. When I was last with her, Joseph was frustrated because he had translated only a few pages. As Joseph said, your coming has been a godsend.”

Oliver rose and came to stand by Nathan’s side. “That is more true than you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was a schoolteacher in the Palmyra area. As is customary, I took room and board with the parents of those I teach.”