Spirit Pouch (13 page)

“Hitch a ride?” Elizabeth repeats.

“Catch a ride on a wagon,” William explains shooting a glance at me.

“Next time don’t be so late,” Elizabeth reprimands.  “Now dinner will be late.”

“Yes, Mother,” we both say quietly in unison.

“Jared, how are those new boots?” Elizabeth asks cheerfully.

“Great!” I say.  “They fit really well and my feet don’t hurt a bit.”

“Okay then, take those buckets from Tom and go fetch some water.”

We each grab two buckets and head for the stream.

“So why do we need four more buckets of water?  I mean, four is a lot of water for supper, isn’t it?  Besides, someone already hauled some water recently because these buckets are wet.”

“We don’t need four buckets of water …” William begins.

I knew it,
I think, feeling pretty smug about being a great detective and noticing the wet buckets.

“… we need twelve buckets,” William continues.

“Twelve?”

“Yeah, and we’ve got to hurry, too.  Didn’t you see the blanket hanging in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, I guess so.  I didn’t pay much attention to it though.  Your mom sort of was mad at us for being late.”

“Well, my father was taking his bath.  On Saturday everyone takes a bath even if they don’t need one.  We get four buckets of water to wash with.”

“So, why are we fetching twelve buckets of water?” I quiz as I dip my empty bucket in the stream where the water is flowing quickly between two rocks.

“It’s for tomorrow.  Father doesn’t like us to do any more chores than necessary on Sunday.”

I think about that as we carry our water up to the cabin. 
Keeping the Sabbath day holy is a good thing,
I think to myself. 
The idea certainly is not new.  During the creation of the earth, after the Lord created Adam and Eve on the sixth day, then he rested on the seventh day from his labors.
[42]

And then when Moses received the Ten Commandments, the fourth commandment
[43]
was to keep the Sabbath day holy.  I guess God wanted it that way.

“Jared, you are next,” Elizabeth directs when we return to the cabin with our last buckets of water.

“Me?” I squeak.  “I usually …”

“Yes, Jared.  You are next,” Elizabeth says in a mother’s convincing way.  “Some families might not offer you a bath, but when you stay at our house you are one of the family.  You get a bath, too.”

“Thank you,” I say, forcing an awkward smile. 
A hot shower in a private bathroom would be really great,
I think.  At home I take a shower almost every day.  This bucket of water and a curtain idea is a little intimidating.

“I poured some hot water from the stove in your tub,” Elizabeth says, “so get started.  William still needs to bathe after you.  As soon as you remove your clothes, hand them to me so we can wash them.”  She gives me a nudge and I pull back the edge of the blanket that hangs as a makeshift curtain and enter the small bathing room that contains only one small metal tub which sits on the floor and is half full of hot water.  The blanket, which is suspended about six feet from the floor over a scrawny piece of timber, separates the corner of the kitchen from the rest of the family.  I push the blanket up against the wall to secure as much privacy as possible leaving only a thin slit of lantern light showing at the edges.

I hand Elizabeth my Levis, T-shirt and socks, and she gives me a blanket.

“Wrap this around you after you dry off.  Your clothes won’t be dry until morning.”

Morning?
I think.  I am certainly glad I kept my underwear.  “Thank you,” I say again, politely.

The hot water feels good, and I want to just soak in it, but there is no time for that.  I wash quickly with brown soap that looks like it came from a Relief Society mid-week meeting project, and then I rinse and get out.  It feels good to have clean skin.  No dust.  No sweat.  No mud.

Dressed in underwear and a blanket, I grab my boots and step out of the curtain.

“Go right in to the front room and sit at the table,” Elizabeth instructs.  She picks up a large pot that smells delicious and follows me, setting the pot in the center of the table.  I sit next to Annie and in what seems like no time at all, William joins us.

After the blessing on the food, Elizabeth places a small serving of meat onto each plate.  Potatoes come from the pot and, mixed with real butter, they are delicious.

I eat my helping and am feeling quite content.  I take a deep breath and can feel my body relaxing.  I know if I just curl up in my blanket and close my eyes …”

“As soon as you finish,” Henry announces loudly, bouncing me out of my drowsiness, “move the bench and chairs away from the table and gather over here for scripture reading.”

Tom and George scoot the benches and chairs around the fireplace and we sit down facing Henry.  He begins where we left off last night and each of us read a paragraph.  Tonight we read about Alma, and how he taught others about Jesus Christ and influenced them to be baptized at the Waters of Mormon.

Alma was brave to defy the king,
I think. 
He certainly had a lot of faith.  No wonder he became the prophet and a great leader of his people.
[44]

After everyone has read a paragraph, Henry stands.  “It is a wonderful feeling to be baptized,” he testifies.  “To make a covenant with the Lord that will lead to Eternal life, and to be washed clean … well, I hope each of you will have that same opportunity.”  He pauses for a moment.

It is a great blessing to be baptized,
I think. 
I did not appreciate it at the time.  I did not know much about covenants, and repentance and atonement back then.
  My thoughts drift to my own home, and to school. 
I hope Ty Smith will someday desire baptism.

Henry smiles, “Let’s kneel for our evening prayer.”  He looks up, “Elizabeth, would you women like to join us?”

I look quickly around.  Not only is the table completely cleared, but Elizabeth, Annie, and her grandmother are all in the kitchen.  I have been so focused on Alma that I had not noticed their absence.

“Perfect timing,” Annie chirps as she flits from the kitchen and drops to her knees next to her grandpa.  “We just finished the dishes.”

Elizabeth and Grandma join us and Henry prays.

During the prayer I thank my Heavenly Father for my baptism and for my family. 
I miss my mother and my friends,
I think.  I ask God to comfort my mom so she will not worry while I am gone.  I decide that tomorrow I am going to try to go home.

Almost everyone leaves the front room after the prayer.  I grab a couple more blankets, spread them out on the floor and roll onto my makeshift bed. Pulling up the blanket that has been wrapped around me, I squirm a little until I find a comfortable spot.  It is a hard sort of comfortable, but I know that I can sleep.

“I’m putting your clothes right here,” I hear Elizabeth say.

“Thanks.  Good night,” I reply.

“Good night, Jared.”

Chapter Eight

Announcement

Sunday

I
crouch down behind a small, dark green bush with giant leaves.  My heart is pounding in my chest like a jack hammer.  It feels like it will burst open any second, but I just need to rest, to catch my breath.  But I can not breathe.  At least I want to breathe fast and deep and loud.  But I fight the urge.  Instead, I force myself to take long, slow, quiet breaths so they will not hear me.  So they will not find me.  So they will not kill me.

They are Lamanites, the army of King Noah, but they look like Indians to me.  They are following me, chasing me, tracking me.  But I am fast.  I can run, and I do.  From the moment they spot us at the Waters of Mormon, I run.  But now I have to rest.  I have to hide.

Behind me a twig snaps.  I spin around, sure that I will see a poisonous Lamanite spear flying toward me.  To my relief it is Alma, also crouching behind a giant leaf which drapes down from a tall banana tree.

Then I hear a quiet swishing sound, a leaf being pushed aside, and a footstep.  Alma points behind me and signals me to run, and then he is gone.  I turn toward the sound and I see him.  The Lamanite is coming toward me.  He sees me at the same time that I see him and he lifts his spear of death to launch it at me.  I roll over and onto my feet.  I am running again, but the ground is wet.  I slip onto my knee.  My foot is caught, tangled in a vine.  I roll over but can not free my foot.  I try to yell for help, but the words will not come out of my throat.  I will not allow myself to die here, deep in the jungle, by the spear of King Noah’s soldier.  I fight to free myself, clawing at the thing that wraps around me like a blanket.  I rip it from my face, and I can breathe once again.  Clarity seems to soak back into my consciousness with every breath of cool morning air, and my eyes open.

Relief floods across my chest and into my legs and arms.  I am safe.  I am in the cabin, on the floor where I had put my blankets.  The sun is not up yet, but I can see twilight through the window.  I push the button on my watch and read the time.  It is 5:30 in the morning.  Someone stirs quietly in another room and I know it will be Elizabeth.

I look around and find my pants and shirt hanging over a chair near the fireplace. 
I better get dressed now,
I think. 
In a few minutes Elizabeth and Annie will be up and my privacy will be gone.
  With that thought I throw the blanket aside and pad quietly over to my clothes.  I lift my Levis.  They are mostly dry, but feel a little cool around the seams.  I slip them on and then my shirt.

“Good morning,” Elizabeth says cheerfully as I reach for my socks.

“Good morning!” I reply.  I think to myself,
Yeah, it’s good.  Breakfast is not too far off.  It is Sunday.  No chores to do.  Yeah, it’s a good morning.

“Jared?”

I finish pulling on my sock and look up at Elizabeth.

“As soon as you get your boots on, will you please bring me three logs from outside for the stove?”

“Sure,” I answer. 
There goes the perfect Sunday,
I think with a chuckle. 
And I’ve only been awake for ten minutes.

With my boots comfortably on my feet, I open the front door and step onto the rough wooden slats of the front porch.  The coolness of the westerly breeze raises goose bumps on my arms and chills   my face as it floats across my bare skin.  In the distance I hear a rooster welcome the early dawn.  I step off the porch and watch the silver dew delicately adorning the tall blades of grass sprinkle across my boots and roll to the dark soil beneath my soles.  I watch the sun trim the eastern horizon with orange as it nudges the deep dark blue of night westward.

I grab three medium sized logs from the wood pile. 
I chopped these logs,
I think with a little pride.  I carry them into the house and set them next to the stove.

Annie is up, and from the look on her face, it is against her will.  She is sitting in the kitchen and is pulling on her socks and boots.

“Good morning, Annie,” I greet her.

“Yeah,” she says glancing up from her boots.  She almost smiles, too.

“Annie, will you go pull the table out and get it ready for breakfast?” Elizabeth directs in her motherly tone of voice as Annie finishes her boot laces.

“Ah, Mom,” she whines, standing up and slowly shuffling toward the doorway of the kitchen.  “It’s too early.”

I follow Annie out of the kitchen and over to the table.  Together we scoot it out away from the window.  Annie actually smiles this time.

Sunday morning,
I sigh as Annie disappears into the kitchen. 
If I were home
 
…
  I have to think hard to remember home.  It seems like I have been gone so long. 
If I were home I would get up
 
… Actually I would sleep for a couple more hours and then get up.  None of this sunrise stuff for me back home.  Then I would fix breakfast with Mom.  Lucky Charms or sometimes fruit and yogurt.

Annie comes back in with a stack of bowls.

After breakfast,
I think as I mechanically begin placing bowls around the table,
I would get dressed.  White shirt, tie, black pants.  Then I would walk up to the Church for Teachers Quorum Presidency Meeting.

Annie hands me some spoons.

Then I would go to Church.  I miss Church,
I think, placing the last spoon next to its bowl. 
I miss Lyn.  I miss her eyes and her smile.

Annie and I set some glasses around the table as Tom, William, and George shuffle out of their room and plunk down at the table. 
At least George isn’t late this time,
I think to myself smiling.  In a moment everyone is seated around the table.  We kneel down and pray as a family and then enjoy grits mixed with eggs and bacon and milk.

Aaaah
, I think.  I close my eyes for a second. 
A short Sunday nap, and then sit for a while on the front porch in the cool air.  How great would that be?  Maybe Annie and Joseph would want to play a game of freeze tag
 
…

“That was good,” Joseph says.

I opened my eyes and instantly my mind flies back to Sunday breakfast.

“Yes it was,” I agree.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Elizabeth smiles.

Henry stands and pushes his bench away from the table.  “Church will be right after the milking is done,” he announces to his family in his deep authoritative voice.

“Milking?” I whine quietly.  I am looking forward to relaxing.  You know, enjoying the day.

Henry turns his head toward me and I can see in his eyes that he is searching for the rebellious and ungrateful child that is complaining.  His eyes settle on me, the city kid.

“Sorry,” I say quietly, and then kind of sink down as far as the hard wooden bench under me will allow.  After all, I am still a guest in their home and they are caring enough to let me sleep in their home and eat their food.

“Ha,” Annie laughs, almost choking on a mouthful of grits.  “Very funny, Jared.  Everyone knows you have to milk your cow twice a day.”  She pokes me in the ribs with her elbow and spoons her last bite of grits into her mouth.

“Okay,” Henry continues.  “We will start church in about one half hour then.”

William kicks my foot under the table.  “Come on,” he mumbles just to me.  “Thanks for breakfast, Mom,” he says, pushing away from the table and rising to his feet.  “We’re going to get that milking done.”

“Yes.  Thank you.  Breakfast was great.”  My eyes meet for a moment with Elizabeth’s.  “Please excuse me.  I am … ah … going with William to do cows.”

Elizabeth nods her approval and I slide off the bench and scurry outside.  I catch up to William who is already walking Spot back to the hitching post.  We work in silence for a while until finally, taking a deep breath, William says, “Father gets a little impatient when he hears complaining.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”  I pause, then quietly say, “I’m sorry.  I did not mean to make him angry.”

William stops milking and looks right at me.  He seems to be choosing his words, or debating internally if he should speak at all.  “I think he was more disappointed than angry,” he says slowly.  “He expects all of us to help out and to do our part.”  William turns toward Spot and continues milking.  “I know he seems strange, reading his scriptures and praying, but he really is a gentle and honest man.  He believes in God and Jesus Christ, and he was baptized in the Mormon church when I was one year old.  That’s why we don’t go down to Central City to worship. There are actually five churches
[45]
in Central City, but Father says that none of them teach what we believe.  So we just hold our own church meeting at home.”

William finishes milking and puts the lid on the bucket.  He unties Spot and gives her a little swat to send her back out to the grassy corral.

“Do you believe in God and Jesus Christ?” I ask as I help William carry the full milk bucket back up to the house.

“Yes, at least I think so,” William replies.  “There sure are a lot of people in the Bible and The Book of Mormon who testify of Christ.  My father likes to recount the testimony of Joseph Smith.
[46]
  When you think of all that, it is not hard to believe.”

“Do you think that you will get baptized sometime?” I quiz, stepping carefully up onto the porch so the milk will not slosh out of the bucket.

“I hope I get the chance.  Father says that unless we meet up with a Mormon missionary that has the authority from God to baptize, then I will have to wait until we get to Utah.”

Just as I reach out to push the front door open, it seems to open on its own accord.  “Cool.  The door has an electric eye,” I say, remembering how the doors open at Wal-Mart when you step in range of the proximity sensor.  William gives me that ‘what-planet-are-you-from?’ look, and hefts the heavy milk bucket through the doorway and sets it on the floor.

Annie pops her head around the large door.  “What’s an ec-lec-tic eye?” she quizzes with a scoff in her voice.

“It’s something that opens the door automatically,” I say feeling very techno-smart.

“What is ‘automatically,” she says, scrunching her face up into a question.

“Oh,” I say as it dawns on me that few things in Annie’s world are automatic.  “Automatic is when something does a job without one of us doing it.  Like …” I look around … “It’s like if you close this door and the latch falls down and locks the door without you locking it.  That would be an automatic lock.”

“I get it,” Annie says, “… I think.”

“Jared,” Henry says as he stands up.  “You and William come in as soon as you set the milk in the kitchen.  Annie?”

“Yes, Father?”

“Please close the door and come be seated.”

She swings the door closed and I can tell that she is imagining the door closing automatically.  William and I set the milk down in the kitchen and return to the front room that only a short while ago served as my bedroom.  By some creative arranging of the benches and chairs it has been converted into a respectable, but humble chapel.  For a moment I can imagine Martin Harris or Oliver Cowdery preaching in the home of an interested farmer in the early days of the Church.  How brave those early converts must have been!  What faith they must have had to give up old family traditions to embrace this newly restored gospel!

I sit down on the bench next to Annie and William squeezes in on the end.

“I would like to welcome everyone of you to our church service here today,” Henry says boldly as Elizabeth slips in from the kitchen and sits in the back.  “We are here today to remember our God who is our Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ, who is our Savior and Redeemer.  And we are here to worship them.”

Henry pauses, and for a moment his eyes stare wistfully across the room as if seeing some imaginary event taking place.  “I long for the day when I can again partake of the sacrament,” he says, rubbing the corner of one eye, “but that day must wait because I do not hold the priesthood.”

Hey!
I think as my heart seems to leap in my chest. 
I, Jared Ether Taggart, do hold the Aaronic Priesthood!
  I want to scream out and tell Henry my news, but then I remember that I hold the office of a Teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, and only have the authority to
prepare
the sacrament.  I do not have the authority to bless the Sacrament.  And even if I did, the keys to perform priesthood functions come from the president of the quorum, and to bless the Sacrament, the keys would have to come from the Bishop.

I am so deep in thought, now, that I am almost thinking aloud. 
I can see now how the Church established by Jesus Christ would have died out after His death.  The apostles were killed one by one and the keys and authority of the priesthood gradually were taken from the Earth as each priesthood holder died.