Hyrum looked over at Artimesia. She smiled and said nothing. “Brother Snow, I know you are just returning from your labors, and haven’t even returned home. Yet, the Lord has another work for you to do. There are many souls that await you in Salem, Massachusetts and I ask you to continue your labors in that land.”
Erastus’s eyes grew large and his face reddened. “I do not believe you understand the circumstances I am in. My home is in poor repair and of need of its master. I may even lose it if I don’t return home.”
Erastus started to raise his voice. “I haven’t been with my wife for almost three years—
Prior to that we were only together for a few short months. I have labored for the Lord since I was a child of fourteen years. Now, just eight years later, I need to take care of my temporal needs.”
Hyrum patiently waited for Erastus to finish. “Brother Erastus, I know and understand your desire and your needs. But this is not a request from me or from Joseph. This is a call from the Lord himself.”
He reached into his coat and removed a folded piece of paper. He sat it on the table and pushed it over to Erastus.
“Three years ago, Joseph and a few others traveled to Salem in search of relief for the Saint’s debt. He found none and turned to the Lord for answers. On that paper are the words of the Lord to my brother. They are written in his own hand. It contains a prophecy for the people of Salem.”
Erastus took the paper with reverence, unsure if he wanted to see its contents. He rolled it over in his hands. He had given the Lord his life. He was ready to go home and start a new chapter of service, one that let him be at his home, with his wife. Not embark on another mission.
He opened the paper with reluctance. The text was written with a quick hand, making parts of it hard to read. Having seen the Prophets' writing before Erastus was confident this came from his hand. It wasn’t very long, and the opening words were somewhat confusing. I, the Lord your God, am not displeased with your coming this journey, notwithstanding your follies.
****
Howard looked around and noticed that two men who had been watching the shop were no long standing across the street. He had seen them when the pulled in. At the time he wondered why they were just standing around. Their absence now was troubling.
He took from his pack a small wood carving knife and a block of oak. He had brought them to keep him busy as he watched the peoples’ coming and goings. Mostly people were about their afternoon errands. He started to whistle an old Irish jig he remembered his father singing while he worked. It had kept with him for many years.
Down the way, Howard could make out a small group of approaching men. The crowd parted to make way for them. There looked to be about five of them, all in their mid or earlier twenties.
He tried not to stare at them or let them know he had even noticed them. The crowd continued to clear away before them. Howard swore under his breath. This was just what he needed on the first day of the job.
He stood casually and walked to the front door of the publisher. Inside he found Erastus, Winchester and what must have been the publisher. The publisher was a round man covered in ink.
“Men, it is time for you to go.”
Erastus looked worried and started to make his way to the front door. Howard held out his hand. “Nope. That way,” he said pointing towards the back of the shop. “You will find a door back there that leads to a small alley. Once out, take a right. You will find that it leads to the next street over.”
All three men looked dumbfounded at his knowledge of the building and town. “Go!” Howard almost yelled at them.
He didn’t wait to see if they listened. He dodged back out the front door and had just made it back to his seat when the small group of men came up to the shop.
“Look what we find here, boys,” the lead man said.
Howard looked up from his carving. “Morning Mr. Clark. I see the arm is healing.”
“Damn you Howard, I should kill you where you sit.” Edward Clark said, dropping all pretense of politeness.
Howard leaned back and relaxed, putting the block of wood back into his pack. “I think you should at least wait tell your arm is fully healed before embarking on such a foolhardy task.”
“Where are the Mormons?” a tall blond man in the back rank asked.
“There ain’t no Mormons around here. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Another man to Edwards left stepped forward. “Don’t lie to us. We know there in the publisher’s office.”
“Well, it sounds like you know where they are. So why did you ask?” Howard had started to pick at his nails with the knife.
A man, who had almost been cowering behind Edward, stepped out and made eye contact with Howard. “Let’s get em,” he said.
Howard didn’t turn his eyes away, meeting the man’s gaze firmly. The other man broke his gaze first and looked down.
Description:
Jeremy Maughan a seventh generation member of the LDS Church, was born February 1978 in Provo Utah. As a young man he had a passion for reading. One of his fondest memories is laying on the back on his parents boat reading for days at Lake Powell. He would spend days reading Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, David Eddings,Terry Pratchett and many of great fantasy writers. He says that the only way he passed English in high school was because his teachers allowed him to turn in book reports as extra credit.
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