Main Page: The Sword of Laban
The following is from the very very end of the book. Don't read it unless you want a major major spoiler. But since the book has almost zero chance of ever being finished, you probably don't care.
The following is from the very very end of the book. Don't read it unless you want a major major spoiler. But since the book has almost zero chance of ever being finished, you probably don't care.
Epilogue
He walked with a cane. He was a very old man, and a very unique one, standing six foot four but lacking the brawn to match. His scalp was almost completely bald and spectacles perched on his beaky nose. Yet although he was in his mid-eighties, he had a vigor and vitality about him that few men a third of his age could match.
For a moment, even after all he'd been through, Reid still could not believe that this man was standing here, coming across the train platform toward him. Yet it was true, it was really happening. “J. Golden Kimball?” he gasped.
“The same,” the man said in his trademark high-pitched voice.
“Wow,” Reid said, extending his hand, “it's an incalculable honor to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“Then you're damn lucky,” Kimball said. “You think Heber would have sent me if anyone else was available?”
“No, I suppose not,” Reid said. “But I'm glad no one else was available. I've heard so much about you –”
“And you admire me? You'd best repent, young man. Still,” he continued, “it's appropriate, since you're one of the few people for whom I can return the sentiment. You, John Reid, are one hell of a guy.”
“Oh, I just try to do the right thing. Anyone in my place –”
“Let me tell you, professor, we've got a lot of horse's asses in this church. They wouldn't have all done the same thing in your place. Everyone in Salt Lake owes you big time for not letting those bastards kill Heber. Then again,” he added, “they would have saved me the trouble.”
“I'm just honored and relieved that I was able to stop them. But it's all thanks to the Lord, I'm sure. It's because I put my trust in Him.”
“How the hell anyone can still put their trust in Him after He picked me to be a General Authority, well, it's just incomprehensible.” Kimball straightened out his back. “Look, let's not stand around the train station jawing like a couple of Gentiles all this time. Come see the sights.”
“With pleasure,” said Reid. “Lead the way.” He noticed that Kimball was showing even less restraint in his language now than during his talks. He really did have trouble with it. But who didn't have their rough edges? The fact that this man wore his on his sleeve for the world to see, and still was worthy to serve the Lord in this capacity and brave enough to face the world and his seemingly perfect co-workers, well, it was something admirable. Something you couldn't help but love.
The city was interesting, but everything paled in comparison before the magnificent Salt Lake temple. A monolith of quartz monzonite, it towered over their heads, its six spires reaching for the heavens – but not in the same way as the tower of Babel. This was clearly a symbol of devotion and praise, not disdain and arrogance; the culmination of forty years of labor by tireless pioneers and their descendants. Atop the central east spire perched a golden statue of the angel Moroni with a trumpet pressed to his lips, representing the spread of the Gospel to nations far beyond the western United States.
“Amazing,” Reid breathed. “I'd seen pictures, but...”
“Photos don't half do it justice,” Kimball said.
This would be a magnificent archeological treasure, thought Reid, except that it would probably still be in use a thousand years from now, if people were still around. He admired the rich symbolism in the carvings – Earthstones, moonstones, sunstones, cloudstones and starstones, representing different stages of man's progression and the glories of God; a pair of clasped hands on and an all-seeing eye at the top of each central tower. The west central tower depicted the Big Dipper, used for thousands of years by sailors to find the North Star and their way home. The towers themselves, and their pinnacles, represented the governing bodies of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthoods.
Reid was absorbed in examining the building for a good fifteen minutes when Kimball cleared his throat. “Sorry, brother, but we've got to get going,” he said.
“Yes,” Reid said in a daze, feeling as if he had been shaken out of a dream. “Yes, of course. Let's go.”
They walked to the church office building and as they entered and headed down its corridors, he felt as if he'd left one dream for another, this one even more surreal. After all he'd been through, what was about to happen didn't seem possible, not for an average schmoe like him.
But it was. Within a minute he was standing in front of a table around which sat the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the second-highest governing body of the Church, and at its head the First Presidency, the highest, with, in the center, President Heber J. Grant himself. He was an old man with spectacles and a nose a bit like Kimball's but his proportions were more average and he wore a full though closely trimmed white beard over his face. His eyes could be alternately skewering and loving, depending on cirumstances.
“Thank you, Elder Kimball,” Heber J. Grant said to the cowboy, who nodded and left, sensing the solemnity of the moment. “Welcome, Brother Reid,” the prophet continued, redirecting his attention. “We'll all shake your hand at the end, but first I'd like to get down to business. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you, President Grant,” Reid said, sitting down. “It's an honor to be here.”
Indeed it was. Heber J. Grant was an interesting man, not quite as interesting as Kimball but interesting nonetheless, and not just because he was the last prophet to have practiced polygamy, though his three wives never measured up to Brigham Young's fifty plus. Rather, it was the way he had set goals for himself as a young man to accomplish the impossible, whether playing on the baseball team that won the Utah Territorial championship or improving his own sloppy penmanship to the point where he was invited to teach it. Having accomplished something rather difficult himself, Reid suddenly found himself connecting with the man in a way he hadn't anticipated.
“I suppose you know why you're here, more or less,” Grant said. “Perhaps not the details. The first item, I imagine, is to thank you for saving my life.”
“Hey, if I hadn't done it, someone would have,” Reid said. “You're the President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As long as God wants you to stay alive, you will.”
“But you did it,” Grant said. “Yes, you couldn't have done it without the Lord's help, but it was your initiative, your courage, your faith that drove you. I understand it was quite a harrowing adventure at times, but not once did you back out of it, even with your conviction that someone else would take care of it. That's what this world needs more of, Brother Reid – men and women who step up to the plate and accomplish worthwhile things, instead of waiting for someone else to.”
“Thank you, sir.” Reid looked from one apostle to the next and they looked back at him quizzically. When it became apparent that Grant was waiting for him to speak, he asked, “How much exactly do you know about what happened, President Grant?”
“Everything,” Grant said. “Every night I dreamed of your exploits, starting from the moment those apostates burst into your office and stole your paper. Something so significant to the Church as this does not go unnoticed by the Lord's Anointed. I discovered the plot against my life and the whereabouts of the sword as you did. Occasionally the Spirit whispered additional insights to me, but I was mostly just along for the same ride.”
“And this – wow. This really is significant,” Reid said. “It all seems kind of like a dream to me too, you know, and I haven't thought about it in the broader context of my life, let alone history. But this really – wow. Will it be announced to the Church?”
“If we had the sword, there would be no question,” Grant said. “The Lord doesn't work that way, however. He didn't leave us with the gold plates and he hasn't left us with this. So there is no evidence for this story, and nothing in it that the members particularly need to know. We have more important things to contend with for the time being, like weathering this Depression.”
“Yes, of course,” Reid said. “I know we'll make it through. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Not for a while yet,” Grant said, a sad, faraway look coming into his eyes. “And sometimes, I'm afraid, the light at the end of the tunnel is another train.”
Reid's face fell. “Do you mean – the tension in Europe?”
“Forgive me, I digressed,” Grant said, coming back to the present. “It doesn't take a prophet to see that something terrible is looming in the near future. But there's no sense worrying about what or when. The Lord will see us through that, as well, if we just continue to follow him in righteousness.”
He leaned over the table.
“Go home, Brother Reid,” he said. “Go home to your friends and continue your life. Find an appropriate balance between your career, your spirituality, and your social life. Find a lovely daughter of God and take her to the holy temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. I have a good one in mind but that's up to you. Raise children, if you can – there is no greater blessing in this life. You have nothing to fear if your righteousness stays at the level it is. And –”
He smiled to himself.
“Well, this isn't a revelation or anything,” he said, “but I do believe we'll be meeting again.”
For a moment, even after all he'd been through, Reid still could not believe that this man was standing here, coming across the train platform toward him. Yet it was true, it was really happening. “J. Golden Kimball?” he gasped.
“The same,” the man said in his trademark high-pitched voice.
“Wow,” Reid said, extending his hand, “it's an incalculable honor to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“Then you're damn lucky,” Kimball said. “You think Heber would have sent me if anyone else was available?”
“No, I suppose not,” Reid said. “But I'm glad no one else was available. I've heard so much about you –”
“And you admire me? You'd best repent, young man. Still,” he continued, “it's appropriate, since you're one of the few people for whom I can return the sentiment. You, John Reid, are one hell of a guy.”
“Oh, I just try to do the right thing. Anyone in my place –”
“Let me tell you, professor, we've got a lot of horse's asses in this church. They wouldn't have all done the same thing in your place. Everyone in Salt Lake owes you big time for not letting those bastards kill Heber. Then again,” he added, “they would have saved me the trouble.”
“I'm just honored and relieved that I was able to stop them. But it's all thanks to the Lord, I'm sure. It's because I put my trust in Him.”
“How the hell anyone can still put their trust in Him after He picked me to be a General Authority, well, it's just incomprehensible.” Kimball straightened out his back. “Look, let's not stand around the train station jawing like a couple of Gentiles all this time. Come see the sights.”
“With pleasure,” said Reid. “Lead the way.” He noticed that Kimball was showing even less restraint in his language now than during his talks. He really did have trouble with it. But who didn't have their rough edges? The fact that this man wore his on his sleeve for the world to see, and still was worthy to serve the Lord in this capacity and brave enough to face the world and his seemingly perfect co-workers, well, it was something admirable. Something you couldn't help but love.
The city was interesting, but everything paled in comparison before the magnificent Salt Lake temple. A monolith of quartz monzonite, it towered over their heads, its six spires reaching for the heavens – but not in the same way as the tower of Babel. This was clearly a symbol of devotion and praise, not disdain and arrogance; the culmination of forty years of labor by tireless pioneers and their descendants. Atop the central east spire perched a golden statue of the angel Moroni with a trumpet pressed to his lips, representing the spread of the Gospel to nations far beyond the western United States.
“Amazing,” Reid breathed. “I'd seen pictures, but...”
“Photos don't half do it justice,” Kimball said.
This would be a magnificent archeological treasure, thought Reid, except that it would probably still be in use a thousand years from now, if people were still around. He admired the rich symbolism in the carvings – Earthstones, moonstones, sunstones, cloudstones and starstones, representing different stages of man's progression and the glories of God; a pair of clasped hands on and an all-seeing eye at the top of each central tower. The west central tower depicted the Big Dipper, used for thousands of years by sailors to find the North Star and their way home. The towers themselves, and their pinnacles, represented the governing bodies of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthoods.
Reid was absorbed in examining the building for a good fifteen minutes when Kimball cleared his throat. “Sorry, brother, but we've got to get going,” he said.
“Yes,” Reid said in a daze, feeling as if he had been shaken out of a dream. “Yes, of course. Let's go.”
They walked to the church office building and as they entered and headed down its corridors, he felt as if he'd left one dream for another, this one even more surreal. After all he'd been through, what was about to happen didn't seem possible, not for an average schmoe like him.
But it was. Within a minute he was standing in front of a table around which sat the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the second-highest governing body of the Church, and at its head the First Presidency, the highest, with, in the center, President Heber J. Grant himself. He was an old man with spectacles and a nose a bit like Kimball's but his proportions were more average and he wore a full though closely trimmed white beard over his face. His eyes could be alternately skewering and loving, depending on cirumstances.
“Thank you, Elder Kimball,” Heber J. Grant said to the cowboy, who nodded and left, sensing the solemnity of the moment. “Welcome, Brother Reid,” the prophet continued, redirecting his attention. “We'll all shake your hand at the end, but first I'd like to get down to business. Please, sit down.”
“Thank you, President Grant,” Reid said, sitting down. “It's an honor to be here.”
Indeed it was. Heber J. Grant was an interesting man, not quite as interesting as Kimball but interesting nonetheless, and not just because he was the last prophet to have practiced polygamy, though his three wives never measured up to Brigham Young's fifty plus. Rather, it was the way he had set goals for himself as a young man to accomplish the impossible, whether playing on the baseball team that won the Utah Territorial championship or improving his own sloppy penmanship to the point where he was invited to teach it. Having accomplished something rather difficult himself, Reid suddenly found himself connecting with the man in a way he hadn't anticipated.
“I suppose you know why you're here, more or less,” Grant said. “Perhaps not the details. The first item, I imagine, is to thank you for saving my life.”
“Hey, if I hadn't done it, someone would have,” Reid said. “You're the President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As long as God wants you to stay alive, you will.”
“But you did it,” Grant said. “Yes, you couldn't have done it without the Lord's help, but it was your initiative, your courage, your faith that drove you. I understand it was quite a harrowing adventure at times, but not once did you back out of it, even with your conviction that someone else would take care of it. That's what this world needs more of, Brother Reid – men and women who step up to the plate and accomplish worthwhile things, instead of waiting for someone else to.”
“Thank you, sir.” Reid looked from one apostle to the next and they looked back at him quizzically. When it became apparent that Grant was waiting for him to speak, he asked, “How much exactly do you know about what happened, President Grant?”
“Everything,” Grant said. “Every night I dreamed of your exploits, starting from the moment those apostates burst into your office and stole your paper. Something so significant to the Church as this does not go unnoticed by the Lord's Anointed. I discovered the plot against my life and the whereabouts of the sword as you did. Occasionally the Spirit whispered additional insights to me, but I was mostly just along for the same ride.”
“And this – wow. This really is significant,” Reid said. “It all seems kind of like a dream to me too, you know, and I haven't thought about it in the broader context of my life, let alone history. But this really – wow. Will it be announced to the Church?”
“If we had the sword, there would be no question,” Grant said. “The Lord doesn't work that way, however. He didn't leave us with the gold plates and he hasn't left us with this. So there is no evidence for this story, and nothing in it that the members particularly need to know. We have more important things to contend with for the time being, like weathering this Depression.”
“Yes, of course,” Reid said. “I know we'll make it through. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Not for a while yet,” Grant said, a sad, faraway look coming into his eyes. “And sometimes, I'm afraid, the light at the end of the tunnel is another train.”
Reid's face fell. “Do you mean – the tension in Europe?”
“Forgive me, I digressed,” Grant said, coming back to the present. “It doesn't take a prophet to see that something terrible is looming in the near future. But there's no sense worrying about what or when. The Lord will see us through that, as well, if we just continue to follow him in righteousness.”
He leaned over the table.
“Go home, Brother Reid,” he said. “Go home to your friends and continue your life. Find an appropriate balance between your career, your spirituality, and your social life. Find a lovely daughter of God and take her to the holy temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. I have a good one in mind but that's up to you. Raise children, if you can – there is no greater blessing in this life. You have nothing to fear if your righteousness stays at the level it is. And –”
He smiled to himself.
“Well, this isn't a revelation or anything,” he said, “but I do believe we'll be meeting again.”
