The Work and the Glory (34 page)

The pressure on Joseph and Emma had finally gotten so intense that they had moved back to Harmony to live with her parents. That had been over six months ago, and gradually the furor which always seemed to surround Joseph Smith had died down a little.

Suddenly, Benjamin realized Martin had refilled his glass and the stern blue eyes were surveying him carefully. He cleared his throat. “And how is Joseph doing?” he said carefully.

“He’s fine. Emma was big with child when I left. They should have a baby by now.”

Not sure what to say, Benjamin just nodded. The whole tragedy with Joshua had been triggered by the business with Joseph and his gold Bible, and Benjamin wanted no part of it. Feeling the silence stretching out to the point of discomfort, he picked up the glass and gulped it down. “Well, I’d best be going.”

Martin looked at him steadily. “He does have them, you know.”

In spite of himself, Benjamin leaned forward. “Have you seen them?”

With a deep sigh, Martin shook his head. “The angel has forbidden him to show them to anyone.”

Of course.
But Benjamin kept his face expressionless.

“But Emma’s felt them under a cloth.” Martin reached across and grabbed Benjamin’s arm. “And I got to write for Joseph as he translated. He would set on one side of a table, I would set on the other. There would be a curtain between us—”

Benjamin fought the temptation to openly scoff. “How can he translate anything? He’s barely been to school.”

“But that’s the miracle of it,” Martin burst out. “He translates by the gift and power of God. He has the sacred stones, the Urim and Thummim, that were buried with the plates. These help him.”

Benjamin made no attempt to disguise his skepticism. It only heightened Martin’s excitement. “Do you believe the Bible, Ben?” he asked eagerly.

“Of course, but—”

“In the Old Testament, the high priest had a Urim and Thummim, Ben. It was something God prepared to help men receive revelation. That’s what the angel gave Joseph. They help him translate the record. God hid them up with the gold plates so Joseph could translate.”

Benjamin sat back, feeling cornered. He had great admiration for Martin Harris and he had no desire to offend him, but magical stones?

Martin rushed on, leaning forward now, his wine forgotten. “Joseph would study the plates, then give the translation. I would write as Joseph read from the plates.” His eyes were shining. “Oh, Benjamin. It was a marvelous experience. We’ve written a hundred and sixteen pages so far.”

That startled Benjamin a little. He had never thought about the record as being real, so the length of it had never crossed his mind. A hundred and sixteen pages was—

“Benjamin, I’m telling you, it’s true.” Martin had leaned across and grabbed his arm. His grip was hard, the fingers digging into the flesh. “It’s true.”

Benjamin cleared his throat. This would have to be done delicately, but words didn’t come.

Martin sat back. “I gave him fifty dollars, you know. To help him and Emma get down to Harmony.” He pulled a face. “Lucy—Mrs. Harris—still hasn’t forgiven me for that.”

Fifty dollars!
Ben sat back, a little dazed. That was two months’ wages for a working man.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ben. But I didn’t go into this with my eyes closed.” He turned toward the house. “Lucy!”

In a moment his daughter appeared at the door again. “Bring me the Bible.” He turned back to Benjamin. “I had my doubts, too. Joseph is a good boy, but I was getting lots of pressure from Mrs. Harris and others. Everyone thought I was crazy.” He sighed. “So I asked Joseph if he would copy some of the characters from the plates for me.”

“And did he?”

“Oh yes. Joseph is very anxious to convince people he’s really got the plates. He wishes he could show the plates to people, but the angel has absolutely forbidden it. It’s been hard for him.”

Or smart of him!

Martin’s daughter came out carrying a large family Bible and handed it to her father.

“Thank you, dear.” A slip of paper stuck out about midway in the book, and Martin opened the book at the place. He took the paper out and handed it across to Benjamin. Lucy leaned forward trying to see it better. Martin looked up sharply. “That’s all, Lucy.”

Blushing, she hurried back into the house. Benjamin took it, curious in spite of himself. It was a piece of foolscap, about six or seven inches long and four or five wide. On it was an assortment of strange characters arranged in columns. Benjamin was not a learned man, so all he could say was these looked like no writing he had ever seen before. He handed the paper back to Martin.

“Well?” Martin asked.

He shrugged. It looked like the scribblings of a child. “Who’s to say what those are or what they mean?”

“That’s what I thought too, to be honest with you. So I wanted to test it, see if I could get some kind of proof for those who were saying Joseph was crazy.”

And yourself.
Martin was passing over it quickly, but Benjamin saw more clearly now that, for all his trust in Joseph, Martin had reservations too.

“Once Joseph gave me a copy of the characters, I decided to find out for myself.” He tapped on the table with one finger, emphasizing his point. “Benjamin, I didn’t go into this blindly. I wanted to really know.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I went to New York City.”

Benjamin blinked. “You what?”

“That’s right, I went to New York City. I wanted to find someone who could tell me if these were authentic or not.” Martin was lost in his own thoughts now, remembering. “I was referred to a Professor Charles Anthon at Columbia College. He is one of the leading authorities in ancient languages. So I got an appointment with him and showed him the characters. Then I showed him Joseph’s translation of the same.”

He was looking off now, at a point somewhere behind Benjamin’s shoulder. Benjamin waited for a moment, then couldn’t stand it any longer. “And?” he prompted.

“He studied it carefully, then pronounced Joseph’s translation to be correct.”

Benjamin felt the breath go out of him a little.

“I asked if he would write me a certificate stating his conclusions so I could bring it home and show it to the people of Palmyra. He agreed and did so immediately.” Finally, Martin’s eyes came down to meet Benjamin’s. “I thanked him and started for the door. He called my name, and when I turned back, he asked me how Joseph had found these gold plates. I told him an angel of God had revealed to him where they were. He nodded, then asked if he could see the certificate he had written. I accordingly took it out of my pocket and handed it back to him.”

Martin’s mouth tightened in anger. “He took it and tore it up.”

Benjamin leaned forward. “Tore it up? But why?”

“He was angry and said there was no such thing as the ministering of angels anymore. He said if I would bring the plates to him he would translate them. I told him I was forbidden to bring them, and…” His eyes dropped to the Bible in front of Benjamin. “And I also told him part of the plates were sealed.”

“Sealed? What do you mean
sealed?”

“About two-thirds of the plates have a band around them so Joseph can’t read them. He’s been told he is not to translate that part of the book.”

Benjamin felt himself reeling. There were so many twists, so many bizarre aspects to this whole situation.

“Anyway,” Martin was continuing, “when I said that, Professor Anthon said, ‘Well, I cannot read a sealed book.’”

He said it with such solemnity while gazing directly into Benjamin’s eyes. Benjamin began to squirm a little. There was some significance here, but for the life of him he didn’t know what it was.

Martin reached across the table for the Bible, which still lay open to the place where the foolscap had been inserted. He turned the book around and slid it across in front of Benjamin. Benjamin looked down and saw it was opened to the book of Isaiah.

“Read verses eleven and twelve, there in the twenty-ninth chapter.”

Puzzled, Benjamin ran his finger down the page and found the place. “‘And the vision of all is become unto you as the words of a book that is sealed—’”

Martin leaned forward eagerly. “That’s right, Benjamin. A sealed book. Keep reading.”

“—‘as the words of a book that is sealed, which men deliver to one that is learned, saying, Read this, I pray thee: and he saith, I cannot; for it is sealed.’”

Martin leaned back, his eyes half-closed. “Ben, do you have any idea what it’s like to be part of the fulfillment of a prophecy which is almost three thousand years old?”

“You mean…” Benjamin was getting more troubled by the moment. “You think this scripture is talking about this Book…this Book of Mormon?”

“Finish reading, then we’ll talk.”

Benjamin took a breath. “‘And the book is delivered to him that is not learned, saying, Read this, I pray thee: and he saith, I am not learned.’”

Face positively glowing, Martin waited for a response. Still puzzled, Benjamin read the verses again, this time to himself.

“Don’t you see, Ben?” Martin finally blurted. “I took the characters to a learned man and he said he could not read the book if it was sealed. That’s exactly what Isaiah predicted.”

Exactly?
Benjamin had to admit, the story disturbed him a little, but “exactly” seemed a little strong. “But this also says the unlearned man can’t read it either.”

“No,” Martin replied firmly, “the learned man says he cannot read a sealed book. The unlearned man says only that he is unlearned. That is why the Lord had to provide help for him.”

Benjamin was starting to feel a little badgered by Martin’s enthusiasm. He had great respect for this man, but when it came to Joseph, his emotions were too firmly set to be swayed now. Finally, his mind fell on something Martin had said earlier. “You say you have finished a hundred and sixteen pages?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see them?”

Martin’s face fell. “No.”

Benjamin turned away.

“I begged Joseph to let me bring the manuscript home. He inquired of the Lord. At first the Lord said no. But I’m getting so much pressure from Lucy—Mrs. Harris. She doesn’t believe any of this and is angry that I’m spending so much time helping Joseph. She keeps demanding to see some kind of evidence he really has the plates.”

Benjamin nodded, wondering if Martin knew his wife—a real shrew in Benjamin’s book—had gone around the township telling people her husband had been duped by Joseph into giving him all his money. She brought items of furniture, clothing, or other personal belongings and begged people to hide them so her husband couldn’t give them away. It had been the number one topic of conversation in the area for over two weeks. Martin was being shamed and probably didn’t even know it.

“I pressed Joseph to ask the Lord again,” Martin was saying. “Finally, after three times, the Lord agreed, but I had to promise with the most solemn covenant that I would show them only to certain people—to Lucy, also to one of my brothers, to my mother and father, and to Lucy’s sister. I—” His eyes dropped and he wrung his hands. “I’ve already broken that covenant by showing it to others. I must not do so again.”

“I understand.” Benjamin set his glass down and pushed back. “I’d better be getting on, Martin. Thank you for the wine.”

Martin stood to face him. “Think what you will, Ben, but I know Joseph has a sacred record and that he is translating it by the gift and power of God. I know it. As soon as it is finished, I’ll get you a copy of the book and you will see for yourself.”

Ben murmured something, again thanked him for the wine, and walked swiftly to his wagon. As he climbed up and drove back out to the road, he saw Martin watching him. He could almost feel his eyes on his back. He raised his arm and waved briefly, then the house came between them.

As he continued south toward Palmyra, Benjamin Steed’s thoughts were no longer on the whereabouts of Joshua. His mind was filled with thoughts of Joseph Smith. But they were no less troubling and dark than the thoughts which had filled his mind before he turned into the yard of the Harris farm.

Chapter Sixteen

In the summer of 1828, Independence, Missouri, as an incorporated town was not much more than two years old. There had been settlers before—Lewis and Clark had passed by the site in 1804 on their way up the Missouri River. But once William Becknell took a pack train of supplies westward to the Cimarron crossing of the Arkansas River and then south into Mexican territory, the Santa Fe Trail entered the vocabulary of America. That was in 1821. Soon trappers, fur traders, explorers, and missionaries followed, opening up another great pathway to the West called the Oregon Trail. Both trails began at the main square of Independence, giving rise to its title of “Gateway of the West.”

The first permanent settlers started arriving in 1825, and thereafter it became a steady stream. It was not surprising, therefore, that by 1828 Independence had become the newest and largest settlement in western Missouri. The raw newness showed at every glance. The main street was a long stretch of ankle-deep dust that boiled up into billowing clouds with every passing wagon and blinded and choked anyone standing nearby. When it rained—which was often—the streets turned into a quagmire of mud that clutched at man and beast with ferocious tenacity. Residences were a ragtag collection of sod huts, log hovels, and shanties patched together with rough-cut lumber, sheets of tin, or whatever else the owners had been able to steal, filch, or forage. Indian tepees with their packs of snarling dogs and filthy, naked children dotted the western edge of town. Here and there open campsites marked the habitations of the mountain men who disdained the finer comforts of “civilization.”

The main business section of town was not noticeably better. A “hotel” next door to the stage lines office could only be identified as such from the crudely painted sign nailed over the door. The dry goods store was crammed into what had once been a two-room cabin. One could get a shave in the barbershop, which was made from nailed-together crates, but if a bath was also needed, it was given in the tent out back. At every turn, disorganization and clutter assaulted the eyes, but Joshua Steed, who had just finished supper at the town’s only boardinghouse, found it to his liking. He stood for a moment, enjoying the hot sunshine against his shirt, letting his eyes run up and down the street.