Chapter 14: Matrimonia

The Great Depression continues as the four former classmates re-enter civilian life and hunt for jobs, but at least the economic outlook has stopped worsening. Still, those with jobs have to hang on to them tightly; employers can easily take advantage of their workers, knowing that ten candidates would line up for a chance to snatch away any opening. Job safety takes a back seat at the massive public works projects around the country, where the jobless wait at the gates for a worker plunging from a skyscraper’s girders or a dam’s scaffolds to create a vacancy. The imbalance in supply and demand, together with the resulting threat of unemployment for existing workers, makes keeping a job a stressful and high-pressure effort.

As one appalling example, the father of television, Utah’s own native son Philo Farnsworth – who was literally born in a log cabin in Beaver – is being worked into depression by his employer in Pennsylvania. The situation is exacerbated when his young son Kenny passes away back home in Utah, and his employer refuses to grant him the personal leave to bury his son – leaving his wife to handle the funeral alone while he slaves away with his vacuum tubes.

Luckily, the job search goes rather smoothly for the four friends. Rulon, fittingly, becomes a tax accountant; Homer follows his father’s footsteps into academia, though he sets his sights a bit higher by teaching at the tertiary level; and Gordon begins a well-documented career of church service, developing and expanding media outlets while using his mission experiments as test runs.

Hamp, meanwhile, heads south to continue where he had left off with the Park Service. He moves from the supply run to the bus tours and then finally lands his dream job guiding air tours. Having followed Waldemar’s vision into the air, he writes his old friend a letter. He includes a photograph of the new Grand Canyon Airlines plane he is piloting along with a few shots of the Graf Zeppelin that he had collected during his time in Germany.

“Thanks much for the photographs of airships,” Waldemar writes in reply, “They are quite a marvel and I surely hope to travel ‘round the world in a craft as grand as the Graf one day.” His letter quickly turns to a subject that is beginning to occupy each of their minds of late: “By the way, are you going to Jack’s wedding?”

Hamp had heard that their friend Jack Salmon had met a sweet girl from Carbon with a funny name, but this is the first he is told of wedding plans. Many of their former classmates are now tying the knot, and Hamp decides to take some leave and reconnect with his friends – most of whom he hasn’t seen since before his mission – at Jack’s wedding.

Following a ceremony in the Salt Lake Temple, performed by President Grant himself, the entourage makes its way across the street to the Hotel Utah for a reception. Closing the loop on a promise made years before, President Grant sings a solo for the gathering crowd; after the less-than-melodious musical number, Jack and his new bride mingle with their guests and eventually make their way to the bachelors standing watch at the back of the room.

“Congratulations, my friend,” Hamp says to Jack, “but I thought I was going to beat you to it.”

“Yes, I heard things didn’t quite go as planned for you,” Jack says, trying to be careful not to reopen old wounds.

“Since Dot dropped him with a Dear John,” Homer interjects, deliberately throwing salt on those wounds, “Hamp owes me a dinner…and he still hasn’t paid up yet.”

Jack doesn’t want to be caught in the middle of the razzing, so he changes the subject. “Meet my wife Lulu,” he proudly says to his friends, who act a bit aloof in trying to hide any trace of envy, “She’s quite a singer.” Then, turning to address Homer directly, he adds, “…or so I’ve been told. Maybe I should have listened to you and joined the choir after all so I could speak on the subject.”

“Maybe President Grant should have listened to me and refrained from ever singing again,” Homer quips back.

“Well, even my untrained ear could tell it was a train wreck,” Jack replies, “but you’ve got to give him credit for the effort. Besides, he made good on his promise by trading his general conference solo to Lulu in exchange for singing a solo here at our wedding.”

“Yes, Lulu’s number in general conference was certainly magnificent,” Homer says, “and you’ve certainly done a favor to the body of the Church by keeping President Grant away from the Tabernacle’s microphone!”

“Yes,” Hamp adds in jest, “perhaps she has saved the world at large from doubting his role as a man of judgment.”

Lulu nods but doesn’t say a word as the young men have a good laugh at President Grant’s expense.

“She never could say anything bad about anyone,” Jack adds in her behalf, “but she did have her mother warn the wedding guests ahead of time that he couldn’t carry a tune.”

President Grant feels terrible at the reception, not because of his disastrous musical number – which he, in fact, proudly adds to his list of accomplishments – but for the fact that the beloved institution sitting vacant next door had dissolved before Lulu had a chance to attend. He had felt sure that between Mr. Lym and Mr. Durham, they could have turned her into a star. Having lost his job at the school, Mr. Lym is trying his hand making oboes in the Bay Area, and Mr. Durham is attempting to cobble together various public school music programs across the Salt Lake Valley. In any case, President Grant’s dream of having Lulu represent the L.D.S. in vocal competitions has now been shattered.

Nonetheless, with the school out of the picture, he had put Lulu under the personal direction of Tony Lund, the Tabernacle Choir Director, who prepared her masterfully for her first solo from the Tabernacle pulpit; he still feels very hopeful about her prospective career in music, aided by the medium of radio broadcasting that is now under Gordon’s direction. Once combined with the Farnsworth Image Dissector, he feels that the explosive growth of Gordon’s multimedia toolbox could well rival Gutenberg’s press.

On the heels of these technological developments, innovative applications are opening doors around the nation in diverse sectors of the economy, shedding some light on the otherwise dismal residue of the Great Crash. To President Grant, Lulu’s voice and Philo’s imagination both embody a new generation’s hope for a brighter future.

The remaining bachelors leave the wedding and continue seeking their fortunes by sifting through the economy’s rubble, listening intently for any knock of opportunity. In the meantime, they go out knocking doors of their own on an entirely new mission: the search for a bride.

~~~~~~~~

Hamp is still reeling from the fact the Dot had dumped him, especially now that he keeps seeing daily reminders of all the places they had gone together. He decides that a girl like Dot is far too volatile and un-centered for his tastes; if he is going to settle down, he figures, he will need a much more logical girl.

One day during a winter break from the Park Service, he goes to a party at the U and meets just such a girl. She is self-confident and independent, centered and well grounded. Her name is Joan, and they immediately hit it off; she seems to be everything he is looking for.

It isn’t until half-way through their first date that he realizes there is one minor setback: She is a staunch Catholic. Upon hearing this admission, Hamp immediately professes his own beliefs to her.

Having grown up as a minority in her Salt Lake suburb, though, surrounded by an overly zealous bunch bent on proselytizing her into their latter-day form of Christianity, she has learned to defend herself quite eloquently.

Hamp is impressed with her rebuttals and takes her conversion upon himself as a challenge. He knows this to be a potentially deal-breaking hurdle that will have to be overcome if there is any chance of a future for them, so he launches a behind-the-scenes assault on her faith. He studies every Mormon treatise on Catholicism and arms himself with ammunition for a frontal attack.

Their “dates” begin to focus entirely on religious discussions. Each time they meet, he presents Joan with his findings. He asks her how she can possibly adhere to such contradictory tenets; she responds with her own attacks on Mormonism, aided by the anti-Mormon literature that is readily available from her priest. Joan has just as much in her arsenal with which to tear his faith down, but – perhaps hindered in some ways by the one-sided background of Mimi’s staunch teachings – Hamp has trouble seeing things from Joan’s perspective. To him, Mormon doctrine seems entirely logical, and despite his missionary service among non-believers, he lacks the capacity to truly imagine how outrageous and illogical the claims might sound to an outsider who has been armed with anti-Mormon messages almost since birth.

He has found himself a firmly logical girl who can certainly stay committed to a cause; she is exactly what he is looking for, but she is so logical and committed that Hamp is faced with a losing proposition: she is too committed to leave her own faith, and too logical to accept some of the inherent contradictions in Mormon history that have to be taken on faith in order to be accepted.

Having gained some practice in the art of debating among the clergymen in the parishes of Silesia, Hamp decides it is time to step up the game. He bypasses Joan’s priest and marches straight to the Catholic bishop of Salt Lake City.

Monsignor Duane G. Hunt, himself a convert to the Catholic faith, is a formidable adversary.

“So where would you like to begin?” Msgr. Hunt confidently asks – being well versed against any possible volley Hamp might choose to launch his way.

Hamp proceeds to methodically itemize his claims. He begins by laying out the atrocities of the dark ages as evidence for a Great Apostasy, but his claims are only matched by Msgr. Hunt’s detailed knowledge of atrocities attributed to Mormons.

Hamp cites evidence for Catholic persecutions of the early Mormon Saints, not knowing that Msgr. Hunt had served his own Catholic mission to the Mormon enclave of Vernal, trying to win Catholic converts among a quite overwhelming Mormon majority. Msgr. Hunt recites specific cases in which the Catholics in Vernal felt as persecuted, shunned, and condemned as the downtrodden, Midwestern Latter-day Saints.

Having been appointed by Pope Pious XI himself, the same pope, incidentally, who had blessed Hamp in the crowd at the Vatican a few years earlier, Msgr. Hunt is extremely well educated, well spoken, and – to Hamp – annoyingly objective. He fails to fall into a single one of the traps in which Hamp had managed to ensnare his Catholic counterparts in Europe. Not having ceded a single point after a lengthy discussion, Msgr. Hunt politely offers to continue the discussion once Hamp has done more homework.

Hamp realizes he is in over his head and takes the matter up with President Grant. He returns as a third party messenger and begins to hold regular meetings at both the Church Administration Building and the Catholic Diocese office, conveying the various claims back and forth. President Grant quickly tires of the subject and delegates the interviews to Apostle David O. McKay. Hamp keeps intricate discussion notes and assembles ammunition against every vulnerable piece of Catholic doctrine he can identify. His research begins to eat away at his scholastic study time, but the potentially eternal ramifications of these religious studies trump the school books.

Nonetheless, he forges ahead, trying to prove Catholicism false and Mormonism true. In the midst of these discussions, he and Joan dig in their trenches and face a stalemate.

Hamp complains about the quagmire to his best friend, Willard Smith. Willard’s father, who has taken upon himself a bit of a patriarchal role since Chick’s death, writes Hamp a long, heartfelt letter of advice and urges him to give up the fight. The very things Hamp admires in Joan, he writes, will prevent her from seeing his side. Hamp eventually capitulates, draws a truce, and files his notes away. There is not much of a friendship left to salvage, and their future together soon disintegrates into nothing but a line on Hamp’s annual Christmas card list.

It isn’t long, though, until Hamp meets Marjorie Teudt, a fun-loving, spontaneous burst of energy who initially drives him crazy, but eventually draws him in. In short, she is precisely the opposite of Joan. She has an edge for flair and bursts of glamour; she flirts with art and dabbles in poetry, but her efforts in these arenas take a form that Hamp often has trouble appreciating. She is genuinely spirited and spunky, but can quickly turn to moody and irritable. At times she tries to manipulate Hamp to get her way using methods he hasn’t yet learned to counter, and she has a tendency to nag him incessantly until she gets what she wants. In contrast to his relatively stable upbringing, Marjorie endured an often troubled childhood; the effects aren’t immediately apparent to Hamp, but over time he begins to recognize the symptomatic idiosyncrasies. During occasional depressive episodes, for example, she becomes self-deprecating, fishing for compliments to shore up her self-esteem. Uncomfortable as it makes him, Hamp always obliges.

Somehow, though, these two polar opposites attract each other. When Marjorie dresses him in drag just for a laugh at a ward talent show, he rolls his eyes but eventually goes along with it; it is not the last time he will shake his head after a look in the mirror, wondering how on earth she had talked him into this. He isn’t always sure he appreciates it, but she brings out a new side of him, and he loves her dearly.

Soon they find themselves addressing wedding invitations. Hamp’s courting efforts had involved a few false starts that had absorbed most of his attention for several years running. Although he had lost track of some of his former friends in the process, he had still managed to carefully maintain their whereabouts in his detailed address books; as he sorts through his files to collect mailing addresses for the wedding announcements, he is excited to reconnect with old friends.

Among his papers, he runs across the largest folder of all; as he pulls Joan’s correspondence out of his file cabinet, he can’t help staring at his unfinished treatise on Catholicism. Although the wedding is rapidly approaching, he decides to dive headlong back into the effort and devotes what little spare time is left in his schedule toward documenting his sources and laying out the pages in a book format.

Marjorie simply cannot understand his obsession and jealously challenges him to let it rest; it is water under the bridge, after all. She takes his insistence on finishing it as regret for having lost Joan; Hamp, on the other hand, sees it as a way to convince himself that he hadn’t wasted all of that time over the years – he claims it is merely a means to turn his past efforts into a useful product.

Marjorie can’t stop Hamp’s stubborn march; he finally compiles a manuscript and approaches several publishers with the results of his efforts under the deliberately ambiguous title Concerning God. They summarily reject it as lacking a marketable audience. Not to be defeated, Hamp pays for a limited run out of his own pocket. He sends a copy to Msgr. Hunt and anxiously awaits his feedback but receives no word back.

During endless, late-night episodes, he then sits at the typewriter and drafts letters of inquiry to everyone he can think of. He sends a letter with an accompanying copy of his book to each of the apostles and to various directors of Church departments and publications. In addition to President Grant, he hounds John Widtsoe, Sylvester Cannon, Rulon Wells, Ruben Clark, Richard Evans and every other general authority of note.

Wary of offending their Catholic friends, they send him back one rejection letter after another. Each response is filed neatly away for future reference. Some of the letters are cordial, while others more bluntly describe his book as “hardnosed,” with too much of a “bite.”

It becomes obvious to Hamp that the letter-writing campaign isn’t working. Rather than giving up entirely, though, he decides that face-to-face meetings might be more productive. He has one last card in his pocket: his friend Gordon, who works behind the scenes at Church Headquarters. Although Gordon has less obvious influence on Church matters than the general authorities, Hamp feels that the effort might be worth one final shot. He decides to enlist Homer’s help in setting up a meeting and promptly gives him a call.

“Do you still see Gordon much?” Hamp asks, “I have some questions I’d like to run by him.”

“We have lunch in the Hotel Utah Cafeteria once a week,” Homer answers, to Hamp’s relief, “Why don’t you join us for lunch next week Thursday?”

“The tab will be on me,” Hamp answers, “since I do still owe you a meal from our old wager.”

“Don’t think I had forgotten,” Homer quips, “Though it won’t quite be home-cooked, I reckon I’ll settle to finally clear the debt off the balance books.”

Hamp sends Gordon a copy of his book in advance and eagerly awaits the meeting.

~~~~~~~~

On the appointed day, he makes his way across his old campus and toward the Hotel Utah. It gives him a lump in his throat to see the buildings of the L.D.S. that have been converted into storage and office space, but there is some new life in the renovated genealogical library and in the old classrooms that now house the successor of his alma mater, the L.D.S. Business College.

He runs briskly up the steps and finds Homer and Gordon waiting for him outside the cafeteria entrance. They find their seats and – after a brief greeting and some shared memories – Hamp readily notices a change in Gordon’s demeanor. In contrast to the old times at the L.D.S., Gordon has become much more professional and a bit standoffish. In recent years, he had often been called on to review various proposals for Church publication, and is now quite well versed in wording rejections. He is polite, but a bit aloof; he has grown quite used to having people contact him for his influence and for the company he keeps.

“Good luck with your book,” Gordon says bluntly, getting straight to the point, “I’m sure you’ll find an audience, but the Church has no interest at the present.” Gordon hands him back the book, which Hamp takes as a further blow.

Hamp feels devastated inside. Inwardly, he had held out hope that this might be his break-through. He quickly masks his emotions and turns to his meal.

“Still single?” asks Homer, coming to his rescue – knowing that Hamp’s wedding is just a few weeks away.

“Still a student?” Hamp replies with a jab of his own. Though Homer is nearing completion of his doctorate degree, he is the last of the foursome to still be enrolled in school.

They both turn to Gordon. “Still childless?” they ask jokingly, knowing that Marjorie is already eight months along.

“Not for long,” Gordon answers, “and if I can just manage to get my office work done a little quicker each day for the next few weeks, the nursery will be ready just in time.”

Gordon and Marjorie, the two high school sweethearts, had continued their romance as soon as he had returned from his mission. They got married, worked hard, and lived frugally, building additional rooms onto their house when needed. In his work for the Church, Gordon now combats bad press with a unilateral blitz of his own rather than ignoring or responding to criticism. It is a task he finds incredibly rewarding, but it draws long hours from his already stretched schedule.

Not one to brag about his accomplishments, Gordon quickly changes the subject away from himself.

“So you’ve found yourself a Marjorie as well, have you?” he says to Hamp, “Well, though I’ve never met her, I do think her name sounds rather perfect!”

“She’s quite a firecracker,” Hamp says, “and she’ll keep me in line. But let’s hear about the scandalous missionary who landed himself a bride on the Lord’s errand!” he says.

“Oh come on, Hamp,” Homer says a bit defensively, “You know we barely even spoke over there.” He reaches for his dessert and, regaining the upper hand, says, “Since it turned out in my favor, I should have made you that second bet a few years ago. You’d have owed me another dinner.”

“Yes, it sounds like your persistence wore her down,” Hamp jokes, “But the daughter of an apostle? I’m not sure I’d want that kind of pressure from my in-laws.”

Homer rolls his eyes.

“My bride’s father ran off on her,” Hamp continues, “so I don’t have quite as much to live up to. Guess the pressure’s off for me!”

“Well her parents certainly made me nervous for a while,” Homer says, “In fact, it took me years to stop calling my father-in-law President.”

“So how did you breach the subject of a proposal,” Hamp asks curiously.

With a wide grin, Homer proceeds to dive into their story: He had had his eye on Eudora from the instant he and the Widtsoes found themselves back in Utah after completing their missionary service. Under the guise of adding to the mission history, he occasionally brought mission-related documents or photographs to their home.

During his visits, he would always spend a few extra minutes reminiscing with Eudora. He was particularly impressed by her world experience and her education; his father, George, had unwittingly passed along a preference for the finest institutions, and Eudora’s training at a British boarding academy seemed to land her heads above the typical Salt Lake Valley girls.

It had felt a bit awkward to shed the formalities between them, but soon they fell in love and were married – not just with her father’s blessing but, in fact, by Elder Widtsoe himself. Within a few years – despite Homer’s prolonged student status – they had added three children to the family.

“And they both lived happily ever after,” recites Hamp.

“Well, we’re still writing that part of the story, Homer says, grabbing for another dessert. “By the way, don’t tell Eudora I’m having seconds,” he says subtly, “or she won’t let me eat any other sweets for a week.”

“Keeping secrets from her already, are we?” Gordon chides.

“Well, she has become very health conscious lately,” Homer complains, “insisting that I get fit and eat right as an example to the children.”

Gordon makes a move to assist her lofty goal by grabbing for Homer’s dessert.

“In fact,” Homer continues, pulling the dessert back to his corner of the table, “she had our babysitter Muriel in tears the other day. The poor girl is very fond of sweets herself, and when Eudora and I came home from a show, she proudly told us that she had made and served the children chocolate decadence as a special treat!”

“Bet that didn’t go over well,” says Hamp.

“She was met with Eudora’s scornful eye – even I don’t see that look very often. ‘We do not have confectionary in this house,’ she told her in a chilling tone.”

“Fired!” Hamp says with his finger pointed like a gun.

“But there’s more,” Homer continues, “When I drove her home, Muriel confessed that she had also made a big batch of divinity sugar, which she was smuggling out in her backpack to avoid another scolding.”

Hamp and Gordon laugh at the scene Homer describes.

“Do know what’s most ironic?” Homer asks, “Here’s the best part: The poor thing has now met herself a dental student who is sure to ban her from sweets for life if they marry.”

Sure enough, the future Dr. Krey – my very own maternal grandfather – would end up purging their future home of candy in all its forms.

The laughter subsides, and Gordon looks at his watch. “Well, despite the secrets you’re hiding from her,” he says, trying to bring the conversation to a close so he can get back to work, “it sounds like you have done very well for yourself.”

After sharing a few more high school and mission memories, they run out of small talk, and Hamp picks up the tab – as long promised. As they are about to part ways outside the building, another character from their past storms across the sidewalk.

“R.J. !” Homer shouts, “What are you doing here?”

Rulon turns to them. He hasn’t been called R.J in a long time.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he answers, but he stops in his tracks nonetheless. There is an awkward pause; it has been over five years since they had last seen each other, and they aren’t sure where to begin to catch up.

“I’ve been writing a book,” Hamp says, breaking the silence, “Want to see a copy?”

“Sure,” says Rulon.

Gordon feels the sales pitch coming on and looks at his watch again. With a tight schedule to keep, he politely excuses himself. Homer – knowing his in-laws have had their share of contentions with Rulon – decides to take a passive approach and likewise parts company with a series of handshakes.

Left alone with Hamp, Rulon takes the book and thumbs through it. “What’s the premise?” he asks a bit impatiently.

“Basically how the Catholics are wrong and we’re right,” Hamp says proudly.

“Well I hate to tell you this, but you’re both wrong,” Rulon says bluntly.

Hamp is curious. “Is that so?” he asks.

“Let me tell you something,” Rulon says, pointing toward the administration building from which he has just emerged, “That was the last time I will ever set foot in that den of wolves.”

Hamp gives him an inquisitive look; this explanation will clearly take more than a few minutes. They both take a seat on the steps and Rulon proceeds to relate his story, beginning with his return from London a few years earlier:

~~~~~~~~

Three long years after Rulon had last seen the Browns, Sister Zina Brown invited the freshly returned missionary back to her home – purportedly to hear him report back on his mission experiences. Her true intentions as a matchmaker, however, are easily discerned, and she does her best to ensure that her earlier blessing on Rulon comes to fruition.

As they sit around the dining room table on that hot summer night in 1933, Rulon immediately notices a new maturity in Zola. While her sister Zina is still a bit of a troublemaker, not wanting to conform to their father’s pious image, Zola, on the other hand, has grown very independent and level-headed since Rulon had last dined with them. Both, however, are bored by the endless political questions Brother Brown poses to Rulon. Brother Brown had served as a missionary in England while Heber J. Grant presided over the mission before the Great War; he is fascinated by the unfolding political scene in Europe and wishes to hear every first-hand detail of the conditions that he can extract from Rulon.

“Well, I didn’t really get to see much of Europe,” Rulon answers coldly after fending off a few questions, “so I can’t very well speak on the subject.”

Rulon does want to hear more about Zola, though, and the family dinner table conversation begins to narrow into a dialogue between the two of them.

One dinner invitation follows another over the ensuing weeks; after each meal, Zina the Elder arranges for Rulon and Zola to spend time together in the sitting room getting to know each other better.

As the months pass by, Brother Brown is increasingly absent. As a newly called Stake President, he has a busy schedule to keep. Though the young couple’s romance flourishes into a courtship, Rulon actually has to schedule an appointment through Brother Brown’s personal secretary in order to ask for Zola’s hand in marriage. After ample admonitions and a long discourse on paternal responsibilities, permission is finally granted.

Within a year Rulon and Zola are married in the Salt Lake Temple. Though he fears it is a fruitless request, Rulon nonetheless asks his father, David, if he would come to the temple grounds to greet the wedding party and at least be present for the photographs. David flies into a tirade at the notion, scolding Rulon for following false prophets who have fallen from grace.

“I told old Joseph F. that I’d never set foot anywhere near Temple Square again,” he blurts out stubbornly, “until he comes forward and admits that the Manifesto was manipulated.”

Rulon knows that any tacit acknowledgment of his father’s arguments will only lead to further diatribes about the authenticity of various facsimiles; he decides at that point that it is best in the long run for his newly formed family to cut off ties completely with his polygamous, ex-LDS family members.

Life settles into a routine for Rulon and Zola over the next several years, and it isn’t long before two little boys liven up the home. Rulon’s work as a tax accountant brings home a relatively comfortable paycheck for the late-depression era; yet he cannot find happiness in this new life. He comes home from work each day and sulks, often heading back out after dinner to spend long hours at the local library reviewing financial papers. His mood weighs heavily on Zola, and she wishes she might find a way to help him out of his depression.

“You seem so sad,” Zola says one evening as they sit down to a family dinner.

Rulon does not respond but just stares at the floor. Zola suspects that his increasingly frequent depressive episodes might have something to do with the long-standing family conflicts.

“If I couldn’t speak with my own family, I’d just die,” Zola says.

Rulon still offers no response.

“Why don’t we invite your father for Sunday dinner next week?” Zola asks hopefully, “It’s been so long since the children have seen their grandpa.”

“Fine, I’ll ask him,” Rulon glumly agrees. He thinks it is a terrible suggestion, but he forces himself to comply in order to put an end to the conversation. “But I don’t want him bringing his wives along,” he adds, “The kids are confused enough about their family without having to deal with a whole crew of grandmas.”

Rulon has never forgiven David for marrying his step-mothers; because the marriages are legally unrecognized, he considers the other wives to be mistresses and counts his father as an adulterer. He shakes his head and taps his fingers nervously on the table. Finally he stands up from the table and reluctantly grabs the telephone to dial the switchboard.

Zola smiles, pleased with the progress.

“I don’t think he’ll agree to it,” Rulon adds with his hand over the mouthpiece while the operator tries to reach David.

It is an awkward conversation once they finally make the connection, but to Rulon’s surprise, the dinner invitation is accepted – under the imposed condition of silence on religious matters.

As Sunday rolls around, Zola prepares a savory meal with multiple courses aimed at prolonging conversations and mending former wounds. In a reserved, unemotional greeting at the door, they exchange formalities and David is invited into the home. He knows that he has been granted a singular chance to re-enter his son’s life. All he has to do is to keep quiet; if he starts spouting off about polygamy, he has been told, he will never be invited back.

Nevertheless, it is a chance that David decides to take; he simply cannot keep his views to himself when his posterity’s salvation is at stake. As soon as he and Rulon sit down at the dining room table, he starts into a discourse. Though disinterested in the details, Zola senses that something is terribly wrong the instant she brings in the meal from the kitchen and receives an apologetic look from Rulon. Knowing that he may not have another chance to voice his views, David raises his voice and begins to testify more fervently. Plural marriage, he claims, is as necessary to salvation as any other saving ordinance.

As the head of the household, Rulon knows that he has the right to throw his father out; but in a watershed moment, he decides for once that rather than arguing, he will just listen. As David preaches with an eloquence that seems to rival the prophets of old, Rulon hears him out and is entirely captivated. He even discerns a glow about his father as he speaks; it is a fervor that he wants badly to emulate – a passion that is missing in his own life. He realizes that he has never actually given his father a chance. Might there actually be something to this? he wonders.

Long before this dinner with David, Rulon had already begun to question the authority of some of his Church leaders – Elder Widtsoe in particular; that seed of disenchantment had already been planted, but now it receives all the fodder it needs to sprout.

Still bitter over his excommunication over two decades before, David proceeds to attack each of the current LDS leaders. “They’re hiding the evidence,” he claims, “and I’ll bet Heber’s got the documents locked up in a vault right there in his own office.”

Among the documents he refers to is the much-disputed 1886 Revelation by John Taylor proclaiming the permanence of plural marriage.

“Heber even admitted it was in the prophet’s very own handwriting,” David says, his voice growing louder, “and he only dismissed it because it had been misfiled.”

Rulon has heard this argument before and nods his head.

“Misfiled!” David shouts, pounding the table for added emphasis, “If it’s not a house of order, what does that tell you?”

“Not a house of God,” Rulon says softly, his expression changing from skeptical to quizzical.

“We were forced into hiding,” David continues, lowering his voice to a more personal tone, “Do you remember what it was like to go by a false name?”

Rulon nods again.

“After years of shame, I finally had to stand up for my beliefs,” David continues, “and old Joseph F. excommunicated me for it!”

While David outlines details related to missing and manipulated manuscripts, the memories of life in hiding come flooding back to Rulon. The injustice of his childhood suddenly haunts him with a distinct suspicion that he has been wronged, robbed and duped by his Church leaders all along. He curls his brow and stares at the table; though David keeps talking, Rulon doesn’t need to hear any more.

At the next break in the conversation, he looks up, feeling reborn. “Thanks for coming dad, I’ll give it some thought,” he says. But inside he realizes that he has just been converted. If the finality of that moment could be captured along with its impact on future generations, this dialogue may rank among the all-time, most influential dinner conversations ever held. As they shake hands and part with an awkward hug, he realizes that there is no going back.

As zealously and promptly as Saul dropped his allegiance to the Sanhedrin upon his conversion, Rulon has severed himself from the direction and influence of his former leaders in one fell swoop. In a complete paradigm shift that has only taken a few minutes to transpire, he tries to grasp the ramifications of the sudden transformation in his psyche.

“Can you believe that nonsense?” Zola asks Rulon hopefully as they clean up the dishes.

Rulon gives her a silent glance in response that chills her to the bone. Surely he hasn’t taken any of this seriously, she hopes, but she doesn’t dare to ask any questions.

Rulon stays at the kitchen table, his scriptures laid out before him. He doesn’t move a muscle – he just stares at the pages with his head spinning.

At first light the next morning, he finds himself still sitting at the table in a deep trance. As the children begin to stir, he knows that he needs to get away to clear his thoughts, so he uncharacteristically decides to skip work. He sneaks into the bedroom and gives Zola a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll be back later,” he says.

Her heart sinks, and she pretends to stay asleep; inside, she fears the worst.

As he walks out the front door, Rulon does not know where he is heading, but he instinctively turns toward the mountains and begins a long, thoughtful journey. Like Joseph Smith himself, he feels in dire need of knowledge. As he begins to climb the nearby foothills of the Wasatch Front, he steadily increases his pace.

Somehow he feels that this journey is as important to the modern dispensation as Joseph Smith’s own trek to the Sacred Grove. As he breathes in the crisp air and stops for a moment to take in the majestic view, the sun peers over the mountains in the east and begins to shrink the massive shadow that retreats across the valley below.

The high ground helps him feel liberated and stalwartly determined. He is convinced that if Palmyra had mountains like this, Joseph Smith would have walked right past the grove and climbed ever higher to commune with God. He clambers upwards until he finds himself on top of a peak overlooking on one side the West Desert and the cities of the Saints, and on the other side the vast expanse of the Wasatch Range.

“This is the Place,” he says aloud to himself, trying to invoke a prophetic reverence on the moment.

With that, Rulon drops to his knees to pour out his soul to the Lord. His question is quite simple: Is his father an apostate, or has the rest of the Church gone astray? The implications of the answer, however, are tremendous; everything he knows – everything he loves – is at stake. Using the nearby rocks as an altar for his prayer, he remains on his knees as long as he can possibly stand to. He stares at the expansive city before him – a city that had sprouted from the desert, platted and ploughed by his own pioneer ancestors. Those who have gone before him now have the answers he seeks; he calls on them to guide his thoughts and to steer him toward the truth.

Never in all his life had he felt so confused; with a storm of emotions brewing inside of him, he bows his head and waits for the darkness that preceded Joseph Smith’s heavenly vision, but it never comes. He looks up and feels nothing; is this the sort of stupor of thought Brother Joseph had classified as an answer in itself? Should he be conducting his research more systematically, perhaps by perusing the library shelves for historical documents to guide his decision, instead of isolating himself on a mountaintop? He stares at the old library building beyond the toe of the slope; he had visited the library just the week before while looking for the latest tax codes. Suddenly, a piercing thought enters his head and spreads through his body like an electric charge. He clearly sees the librarian who had assisted him. Is this his answer?

His thoughts run wild; he does not even know her name, but suddenly he feels impressed that she should become his wife…his second wife…a sister wife to Zola!

He runs down the mountain, sliding down the rocks and practically stumbling every step along the dusty path he blazes. Will Zola believe him? Surely she won’t doubt his sincerity, but will she stand by his side and follow the path he has now chosen to take? His pioneer ancestors had found themselves in the same predicament when plural marriage was first introduced; would she – like they had – side with her husband, submitting to his patriarchal authority? Or will this drive her away forever? And what of their children?

His excitement begins to waver as he pictures her first response. Whatever her reaction, he realizes that this will forever cast a wedge in the Brown family. Can he really expect her to sever ties with her own family by supporting this calamitous claim? Rulon had made a similar sacrifice for the mainstream Church as a teenager, but at the time the decision was solely his own, and he hadn’t had the responsibilities of parenthood to bear at the time.

With the ultimate prize of eternal salvation at stake for himself as well as his posterity, he has to be sure of this new commitment. And like his prophet heroes, he has to be willing to give up everything – absolutely everything – if need be. His descent slows with these thoughts, but he continues his resolute march down the mountain, drawing on the same sorrowful certainty with which he imagines Abraham marching himself up a mountain, willing to sacrifice his family for the sake of his vision.

He is unswayed but absolutely terrified by the time he walks back through the door.

Zola hears him out, but she cannot believe what she is hearing. She locks herself in their bedroom and utters her own, fervent prayer. She feels empty and alone, but in the back of her mind, she knows that earthly laws will be on her side and that – regardless of her decision – nothing can separate her from her two little boys. With this assurance, she feels enough comfort to let Rulon decide his own fate. Though she feels no prompting to follow his lead, she does want to make absolutely sure that her decision is not being guided by her own pride and jealousy. Her family, too, has polygamous roots, as attested by the complex, interwoven family tree on her wall. These were by no means always happy marriages, but somehow they worked out in the end. What would her forefathers expect of her? Alone in the bedroom, she drops to her knees again and again, begging the Lord for some form of confirmation. After a few hours, she finally emerges and confronts Rulon.

“This vision of yours has more to do with me than it does with you,” she says bluntly. “If it were from God,” she continues, “I have to believe that He would allow me to share in it. He would not expect me to accept something this substantial without granting me my own confirmation.”

Rulon looks into her eyes and already knows what her final answer will be.

“The Lord has offered me no indication of its truth,” she says, “and I simply cannot take your word alone for this.”

“And I cannot deny my vision,” says Rulon.

Zola nods her head; she knows him well and understands that, once committed, nothing can sway him. They are at an absolute impasse.

Rulon knows that it is a horrible choice to present to his young bride, forcing her to choose between her husband and her faith; though he knows what he must do, his very soul tears at him as he feels his family slipping away in the process.

He knows that living this principle will entail an all-or-nothing decision; with differing feelings on a doctrine this deep, they simply cannot stay married. He loves his children, but he also knows that if he has to answer to them someday, he would rather tell them that their father stayed true to his convictions, suppressing that love, than that their father compromised his convictions because of his own, selfish love. He believes firmly in the Law of Consecration, but had never imagined it would involve this much sacrifice. The sword of Jesus bears heavily on his mind.

“Christ came with a sword to divide families,” he quotes from the New Testament.

“Rulon, no!” Zola cries, sure that he has ended up on the wrong side of the sword.

“He that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me,” Rulon quotes further.

“Well what about your wife?” she mumbles, “the words of Christ never mentioned abandoning her, now do they?”

Their oldest son, Rodger, emerges from his bedroom. The sight of him tests Rulon’s resolve, and he cannot bear to face Zola any longer. He gives Rodger a hug and tells him to go back to bed. Then, filling his head with images of some of his forefathers who had left their own families to join the Mormon Church in the first place, he suppresses his emotions and tears himself away. Though he loves his wife and children more than life itself, he grabs the car keys off the mantel and walks out the door. He does not even know how the librarian will respond, but it does not matter; his home is already broken. Zola collapses on the floor in tears as the sound of the car engine faded away.

Surprisingly, the librarian remembers him and is not surprised in the least to see him; in fact, she mentions having felt a premonition that she would see him again. With that confirmation, Rulon’s introduction and marriage proposal are spoken within minutes of each other. Even though she knows that she is, in all likelihood, consenting to the prospect of being shared with additional sister wives, she summarily agrees to his proposal.

Rulon reappears in the doorway to find Zola crying on the telephone; she had been feeling a desperate need for a father’s blessing and any guidance he might offer her. It is not long before Hugh B. Brown appears on the doorstep. It is an intimidating moment for Rulon, but he tries the same mind trick he had previously used, smirking at the thought of two new parents – both Browns – naming their son Hugh Brown Brown. His knees are knocking, just as they had done during that commencement evening a decade before, but the trick works again, calming his nerves.

“Please, have a seat,” Rulon says, politely inviting Brother Brown to sit down at the kitchen table.

Brother Brown sits and tries to reason with him, but soon sees that it is a futile task; Rulon’s fate is sealed. In addition to his concern for Rulon’s salvation, however, he is also concerned about an additional quandary: the image of his family and the image of the Church or, more specifically, the image of his family within the Church. He knows now that Rulon will not waver from this decision; the only influence Brother Brown can still exert is on his daughter. In any case, he is going to be left with one of two scenarios, neither one of which is in the least bit palatable: the daughter of a stake president married to a polygamist, or the daughter of a stake president divorced from a polygamist. Any way dear Brother Brown looks at it, it is a losing situation, so he turns to the logistical matters.

“I trust you will continue to support my daughter and grandchildren financially,” he says sharply, “should it come to a separation.”

“Ever since Elder Widtsoe robbed me of my mission savings,” Rulon says with an air of pride, “I have worked hard and lived frugally so that I would have no debts.”

Brother Brown looks at him cautiously. “So what, exactly, are you saying?” he asks.

“I intend to remain debt-free,” Rulon says proudly, “including to you and your family – whatever sacrifice might be required on my part. Your daughter will have my support before it is ever owed to her.”

Brother Brown looks reassured for a moment, but then squints his eyes. “Robbed by Elder Widtsoe, you say?” he asks curiously, “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“He asked me to ignore my better instincts and borrow money from him,” Rulon explains, “to cover his own mismanagement of the mission’s staffing needs. Now there’s a fellow I would never trust with my money!”

“Remember, there are two sides to every story,” Brother Brown counters.

Rulon should have known better than to bad-mouth Elder Widtsoe – Brother Brown’s mentor at Utah State Agricultural College – in front of him, but he continues just to see how far he can push him. “The crazy Norwegian! His daughter Eudora once told me that his hand was attached to his head at birth; the doctors actually had to cut if free, she said. Well if you ask me, they must have severed part of his brain in the process.”

“Watch your evil-speaking,” Brother Brown warns, with anger stirring in his voice, “Elder Widtsoe is one of the most brilliant educators, scientists, and authors the Lord has ever had at his disposal.”

“Well if he’s so brilliant, perhaps he can earn me my money back,” Rulon taunts.

“I myself am heavily in debt,” admits Brother Brown, who knows something of financial sacrifice himself, having spent much of his adult life trying to earn money to repay his personal debts.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Rulon.

“I owe money to my leaders for debts incurred in Church service; though these debts may burden me until the day I die, I fully intend to repay them as the Lord sees fit.”

Rulon stares out the window. “Better to have avoided the debt in the first place.”

“The Brethren are now asking me to follow in Elder Widtsoe’s footsteps as the British Mission President,” Brother Brown discloses, “I am expected to pay my own way, but I do not have the means and will need to borrow money again.” Putting Rulon to the test, he asks, “What would you do?”

“The Church coffers are filling again; they can well afford to support you without your personal contribution. I’ve been watching their investments,” Rulon adds, “Though they won’t divulge it, I know they’re hiding some of the profits.”

“Careful where you’re going with that,” Brother Brown admonishes, “As for me, I will not take the widow’s mite when I can deal with the costs myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Rulon says with a jab, “I hope it goes better for you than your Senate bid.”

Brother Brown refuses to enter into the political trap and tries to turn the topic back to the gospel. “When the Lord asks, you give,” reasons Elder Brown, “and you work out the balance sheet later.”

“You do it your way, and I’ll do it mine,” says Rulon, “The Lord has asked this thing of me; Zola is free to leave me, or to join me, but I plan to answer His call either way.”

Brother Brown sighs.

“The Lord will work out the balance sheet later,” Rulon adds crossly, “and no matter Zola’s decision, I will find myself free from guilt on the day of reckoning.”

Rulon has cleverly used Brother Brown’s own words against him, but he is sleep-deprived and exhausted from the lengthy dialogue. He stands up from the table, signaling an end to the discussion.

Knowing that he himself will not be able to provide for his daughter’s well-being, Brother Brown acknowledges that he has no other choice than to take Rulon at his word. “Please do take care of my daughter and our grandchildren while I’m overseas,” he blurts.

Rulon nods in affirmation. The two of them have nothing more to say to each other.

Behind closed doors, Brother Brown then proceeds to give Zola a father’s blessing. He tells her a customized version of his famous Parable of the Currant Bush, tailored specifically to her needs. Sometimes limbs are severed for the good of the whole, he says, and the tears of sap are temporary. It is not much consolation to Zola at the time, but during the coming trials of a single mother’s life, it will offer her a small dose of hope. Before leaving, he turns to her privately and pledges his personal and legal support in the event of a divorce.

Rulon feels shut out of these private conversations but realizes that he had better get used to this new world. Over the next few weeks, while Rulon begins to make wedding plans, Zola visits her father’s legal practice to draw up the divorce papers.

Brother Brown feels ashamed to bring up the rift in his family to his peers, but seeking advice, he eventually brings the matter to President Grant’s attention – upon which Rulon is promptly summoned by the Prophet himself. Rulon gladly obliges, anxious to argue his father’s key points at the highest level.

~~~~~~~~

“Well, Brother Jeffs,” President Grant says from his office overlooking Temple Square, “I understand you have some concerns about plural marriage. So where do we begin?”

“Let’s start with the facts,” Rulon answers, “and perhaps the key to your secret vault.”

President Grant laughs, though he realizes Rulon isn’t joking.

“Show me the so-called revelation,” Rulon demands, “I want to see Wilford Woodruff’s handwriting with my own eyes.”

President Grant taps on the conspicuous set of scriptures on his desk. “The declaration was adopted by unanimous vote,” he says with an air of authority, “That should be enough for you.”

“Well perhaps someone should have told the voters that the text had already been manipulated by others – twisted for their purposes,” Rulon says frankly, “I know you’ve got the original version hidden away in your archives somewhere. Or did that one get ‘mis-filed’ along with John Taylor’s revelations?”

“John Taylor’s words were never canonized,” President Grant says, growing a bit defensive. “Stick to the Holy Scriptures; your duty is to follow the Word of God,” he says sternly, “and not to speculate about what is meant by some dream you happen to run across on a second-hand scrap of paper.”

“If it’s just a measly scrap of paper, why do you keep it locked up with your treasures?” Rulon asks snidely. “I know you’ve got it in the archives. All you have to do is to go and find the drawer for 1886,” he adds, “Give me the key and I’ll go and open it up myself.”

President Grant looks at the floor and shakes his head.

“Where are the original documents?” Rulon asks stubbornly, “Just show them to me, and we can put all of this to rest once and for all!”

“You know what happened to the sign-seekers in the Book of Mormon, don’t you?” asks President Grant, provoking Rulon with his insinuation.

“Are you threatening to have me trampled?” Rulon counters angrily, “Don’t go comparing me to Korihor. I’m just asking you to show me that the rescindment was God’s will – and not some cowardly capitulation.”

President Grant looks at Moroni’s gleaming trumpet through his window. “Whenever you see a man seeking after a sign,” he quotes quietly, “you may set it down that he is an adulterous man.”

Rulon laughs off the accusation.

“Well, isn’t that what you’re telling me?” President Grant asks. “You come seeking a sign and at the same time proudly tell me you’ll be breaking your marriage vows?” he adds, “I’ve never seen Brother Joseph’s words fulfilled more literally.”

Rulon sits back in his chair and draws a deep breath, plotting his next line of attack.

President Grant breaks the silence first, trying in vain to find some middle ground. “No matter where your research takes you,” he says, “in this matter you’ll have to exercise your own faith to decide.”

“Don’t start that with me; I have exercised my faith,” Rulon says, becoming increasingly agitated, “After all, that’s exactly why we find ourselves here!”

“Wilford Woodruff was the mouthpiece of the Lord,” President Grant says, “I am convinced of that.”

“And what about John Taylor?” Didn’t the Lord speak through him in declaring plural marriage to be eternal and absolutely essential?”

“That’s your own interpretation.”

“Well since that’s all I’ve got, that’s what I will take to the bank,” Rulon replies with his arms folded, “Not all of us can choose what to throw out and what to add to the next version of the scriptures.”

President Grant looks at the 1921 edition of the scriptures on his desk – the compilation of which he had personally overseen.

“If my father’s research is correct,” Rulon continues, “John Taylor’s revelation was read in on your first day as an apostle. I might be speculating regarding its original content, but you were there – maybe you should go look it up in your journal so you can remember what he said!”

President Grant knows full well that Rulon always does his homework. He decides not to pursue this particular avenue and tries to steer the conversation in another direction.

“When one law is fulfilled, we are expected to abide by a new law; the Law of Moses was God’s will when it was given,” he says, “and well after it was fulfilled in Christ, the Pharisees and Sadducees continued to follow it to the letter – right to perdition!”

“With that sort of a comparison, you’re certainly in no place to call me a hypocrite!” cries Rulon.

“So you’ll trust a dead prophet over a living one?” President Grant asks.

“I would trust a living prophet if I knew where to find one,” Rulon challenges him.

“You can argue all you wish about the past,” President Grant says, “but you are choosing your path now and for the future, not just for yourself, but for countless descendants. I give you this counsel: Leave it alone. Let it be. If you go down this path, the only way to return is on your family’s broken back.”

“My family is already broken,” Rulon replies, “Brother Brown made sure of that.”

President Grant puts his pen down and stops taking notes. He is done with the discussion.

Rulon, however, decides to raise the stakes. “As zealously as Paul fought his tormentors,” he challenges, “I will fight you and your followers for letting the government dictate your so-called doctrine.”

“Our doctrine includes following the laws of the land,” President Grant counters.

“Well thank the Lord the Nazis aren’t in charge here,” Rulon says. “Or you’d be changing your doctrine to fit their loathsome laws.”

President Grant shakes his head.

“So you say it’s all about the laws of the land?” Rulon asks cunningly. “And what if I find myself a country that allows the practice of polygamy?” he challenges, “Is there anything in your American Manifesto that tells me I am not free to practice the principle elsewhere?”

“You are an American citizen; let’s keep the discussion to the here and now.” President Grant looks at his pocket watch. He knows these arguments are just meant to trap him in his own words and that he is unlikely to have any influence on the direction Rulon takes. “Why are the treasurers always the traitors?” he mumbles to himself.

The imputation is a low blow to Rulon. Incited by the comparison to Judas Iscariot, he becomes even more defensive. “Since you’re so keen on quoting Joseph Smith, I’ll do the same,” Rulon says.

“Be my guest,” President Grant says, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“‘I have seen a vision, I know it, and I know that God knows it,’” Rulon recites, “I am as confident as Paul before Agrippa; all the persecution under heaven cannot make it otherwise.”

“Well, I see your predicament,” President Grant observes, trying to find some common ground.

“No you don’t see my predicament. You simply paid a $100 fine for the practice, and that was the end of it.

“That was for cohabitation, not polygamy!”

“Don’t get pedantic with me; you will not win that argument,” Rulon taunts, “My commitment to the principle, you’ll have to admit, will require much more than a cheap, monetary sacrifice.”

Not wanting to debate his own past – and remembering that Rulon had won the very debate competition that bore his name, President Grant tries a reconciliatory approach once more. “Yes, I can see how complicated this might be for you.”

“And I disagree with you yet again – it may be difficult, but it is entirely uncomplicated; I actually find it quite simple,” Rulon argues, “You claim that personal revelation is a God-given right? Well here you have it; this is my personal revelation. Will you refute it?”

President Grant shakes his head, “Nothing we can say here will prove it true or prove it false.”

“You say the same about the First Vision, don’t you?” Rulon asks. “You and I are not that different after all,” he adds, “but while you were polygamous, you are now monogamous; I am merely taking your original course in reverse.”

“It is a course that will take you away from the priesthood and straight to outer darkness if you aren’t careful.”

“You think so? So what of your other wives?” Rulon asks, “in the afterlife, when all is restored, won’t you be a polygamist just like me?”

“Perhaps you’re right,” President Grant admits, “but the Lord asks obedience of us here, in this life. I intend to obey my principles and the current doctrines of the kingdom; and you are obliged to follow your present priesthood leaders.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Rulon says scornfully.

President Grant then sits forward in his seat and stares Rulon directly in the eyes. “I warn you to listen to the word of the Lord,” he says, “If you choose to engage in this practice, you will break your marriage covenant to Zola and thereby commit adultery in the process. Do I need to remind you of the eternal implications of that breach? It was not without reason that the stone tablets read, Thou shalt not!”

“It’s easy for you to condemn me, Heber, since your other two wives died young and in order.” Rulon knows that this remark will effectively end their dialogue. “Well what if they had lived?” he asks, “You’d have been on my father’s side instead of getting him excommunicated!”

Not usually prone to anger, President Grant has to use every bit of available discretion to avoid becoming absolutely furious that Rulon keeps pulling his deceased wives into the debate. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion another time,” he says, hoping to return his blood pressure to a normal level.

“No, I won’t be back in this building,” Rulon says coldly, “and I won’t be changing my mind – rest assured of that.”

“If you do go down this path,” President Grant says sternly, “you would thereby renounce your faith, and it would put an end to our friendship.”

“Well I guess that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Rulon says sarcastically.

“I don’t need to remind you that the practice of polygamy is illegal,” President Grant adds, “and you should know that I will be obliged to give you up if it ever comes to that.”

“So are you going to call the cops now, or will you give me a running head start first?” Rulon jokes, trying to make light of the challenge.

“The authorities can decide for themselves if it’s worth their time,” President Grant says, “but it they do decide to track you down, I will have to side with the laws of the land and support your arrest. And if I am a called as a witness, I would have to opt for your incarceration.”

“So be it,” says Rulon, turning his back, “then I’ll face you in court, both here and in the eternities – God is the only witness I’ll need to call on.”

With a huff, Rulon slams the door. It is a long walk down the corridor, but the farther he gets from President Grant’s office, the more he feels released from his conflicting emotions. Though initially dejected, he now feels empowered as he walks out of the Church Administration Building, picking up the pace along South Temple with his head held high. Hamp’s greeting from the steps takes him quite by surprise, but he had been very anxious to relate his story to someone who might understand his side.

~~~~~~~~

“So there you have it,” Rulon says, folding his arms and hoping to have won himself an adherent in Hamp, “Now what do you think of that?”

The tale has almost caused Hamp to forget why his own head had hung so low. After having spent most of the afternoon sitting on the steps, he finally stands up. Taking his book back from Rulon, he says, “Well, I guess you won’t be interested in the case against the Catholics.”

“No sir,” Rulon says in reply while stretching his legs, “at least not until after I finish with the so-called Latter-day Saints. But in the meantime, I do hope you’ll have the courage to join me in the fundamental practice of Mormonism.”

Hamp hides a smile as he thinks about the lashing he would receive from Marjorie if he ever dared to even mention a conversation with a polygamist.

“Not a chance, my friend,” he answers, “Even if I thought there were something to it, I’m not sure I’d be willing to endure the whipping I’d be subjected to. Besides, if there is plural marriage in heaven, my bride would kick any sister wife to --”

“You’ll see!” Rulon interrupts, not amused at the light Hamp is making of such a serious subject, “The day of reckoning will be upon us soon, and you’ll wish you had listened to me.”

“Well I do hope you’ll see the light before then,” Hamp counters, “and come back to the fold someday.”

“I’ve seen the light myself,” Rulon answers, “and I intend to follow it away from this place – come what may.”

Hamp looks over at the temple and lets out a deep breath.

“For the first time,” Rulon relates, “I can now say that I would put God’s work before anything else in my life. It is an exquisite feeling!” He then adds a resolute phrase that he will often repeat in his own journals and sermons: “I know where I am and where I am going.”

With those parting words and a relatively cold handshake, their lives diverge and follow entirely different paths into the future. True to his word, Rulon withdraws from his former friends and keeps his distance from Temple Square. Failing to recognize the authority of the Church court that excommunicates him, he doesn’t even attend his own hearing later that month.

Hamp and Marge are married in due time, and Hamp returns to the National Park Service as a pilot. In the process he becomes familiar with every major landmark in Southern Utah and Northern Arizona. As he views the desolate slot canyons from the air, he falls in love with the rustic beauty of the area. He tries to convey that enthusiasm to the tourists in his plane, but the renegades in Short Creek have begun to cause quite a stir in the press, gaining some momentum and publicity in the process; Hamp’s tourists often want to hear just as much about the isolated polygamous communities that are springing up along the state border as they do about the scenery.

Meanwhile, Lorin Woolley and Leslie Broadbent, both returned missionaries who had left the mainstream LDS Church, lead an increasing number of polygamous congregations to settle in the isolated area, convincing their followers that they will be free to practice their religion, unhindered by government or mainstream LDS authorities. They are soon joined by one more returned missionary with just enough skill and clout to unite the factions and turn their discordant sects into a consolidated, streamlined, and profitable operation: the money man himself, Rulon Timpson Jeffs.

~~~~~~~~