maybe you’ll get my whole church to join yours. Is that what you want?”
“Well, of course. But I have much bigger goals than that.”
“Such as?”
“I won’t rest until I’ve brought each and every saint to Zion.”
“Including the mainstream Mormons?”
“Especially the mainstream Mormons. There are fourteen million of them. Think what they would bring. And there are Reformationists, Strangites, Community of Christ, FLDS. Every splinter sect and every person who believes Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration. I want them all and I won’t rest until we’ve gathered each and every lost sheep.”
How many people were in the Church of the Last Days? A few hundred? A few hundred more sympathizers on the outside? From there Brother Timothy planned to swallow the whole LDS Church?
“So you believe you are the One Mighty and Strong from Joseph Smith’s prophecy.”
“I don’t believe it,” Brother Timothy said, “I know it. The Lord Himself called me.”
“Why you, why now?”
“The end is here. The time to convert Jew and Gentile is over. Only the saints remain, and they will either gather or perish. That’s all you need to know. And what I need to know is this. Will you help me?”
“When I help, I do it on my own terms.”
“I need humble men, not hard-hearted.”
“But not every man is a foot soldier, either. Your army needs generals, too.”
“Are you claiming you’re a general?” Brother Timothy gave him a sorrowful look. “You might be the most prideful man I’ve met.”
“I’m prideful? I’m not the man who claims he’s the One Mighty and Strong, who thinks he’ll bring ruin upon the world and stand as God’s viceroy until the return of the Lord. That, my friend, is pride. I’m just an independent thinker.”
“I’ve never called myself that,” Brother Timothy said. “It was the Lord who called me.”
His eyes were so intense, his words almost congealed with sincerity, that Jacob found himself drawn in, but only for a moment. And then his doubt reasserted itself.
The Lord called you? Yeah, well he called a lot of other guys, too. Every crackpot between Death Valley and Waco believed God had chosen him personally for some grandiose scheme.
And for every crackpot prophet, there were a thousand followers willing to drink the Kool-aide.
#
The courtyard was big, but not big enough to hold everyone, so they ate in shifts, the organizing principle of which Jacob didn’t yet understand. Timothy said Brother Clarence would take him to the irrigation fields, but so far the man hadn’t surfaced. The prophet rejoined his family with pauses to break bread and bless the food for the newest arrivals.
Within another fifteen minutes, most of the men ate and left and only now did Jacob see Brother Clarence. Even the prophet rose to his feet, embraced several children, then left.
Brother Clarence came and sat down. He was not eating. “Ready to work?”
“Absolutely.” He made to stand up.
“No, go ahead and finish. Long time until lunch. You’ll need a good bellyful.”
“I’m done. Just nibbling bread to pass the time until you showed up.”
A woman stood on the far end of the courtyard. “Can I have the sisters’ attention, please?”
To Jacob’s surprise, it was Sister Miriam—FBI Agent Haley Kite, rather.
“I need three sisters to come with me to the farmers market in Price tomorrow to sell produce. We’ve got pickling cucumbers and tomatoes, in addition to the usual baked goods. It will be a good chance to grab supplies in town, if you need anything.”
At least a dozen hands went up. It wouldn’t be hard to find women who were happy to get away from the compound for a day, from cooking, mending, child care. The Lone and Dreary World, it seemed, still had some pull.
Agent Kite would be visiting the town of Price. Away from the men of Zarahemla. Now all Jacob needed was a pretext to get away himself.
Chapter Twelve:
Jacob’s would-be
“Well, of course. But I have much bigger goals than that.”
“Such as?”
“I won’t rest until I’ve brought each and every saint to Zion.”
“Including the mainstream Mormons?”
“Especially the mainstream Mormons. There are fourteen million of them. Think what they would bring. And there are Reformationists, Strangites, Community of Christ, FLDS. Every splinter sect and every person who believes Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration. I want them all and I won’t rest until we’ve gathered each and every lost sheep.”
How many people were in the Church of the Last Days? A few hundred? A few hundred more sympathizers on the outside? From there Brother Timothy planned to swallow the whole LDS Church?
“So you believe you are the One Mighty and Strong from Joseph Smith’s prophecy.”
“I don’t believe it,” Brother Timothy said, “I know it. The Lord Himself called me.”
“Why you, why now?”
“The end is here. The time to convert Jew and Gentile is over. Only the saints remain, and they will either gather or perish. That’s all you need to know. And what I need to know is this. Will you help me?”
“When I help, I do it on my own terms.”
“I need humble men, not hard-hearted.”
“But not every man is a foot soldier, either. Your army needs generals, too.”
“Are you claiming you’re a general?” Brother Timothy gave him a sorrowful look. “You might be the most prideful man I’ve met.”
“I’m prideful? I’m not the man who claims he’s the One Mighty and Strong, who thinks he’ll bring ruin upon the world and stand as God’s viceroy until the return of the Lord. That, my friend, is pride. I’m just an independent thinker.”
“I’ve never called myself that,” Brother Timothy said. “It was the Lord who called me.”
His eyes were so intense, his words almost congealed with sincerity, that Jacob found himself drawn in, but only for a moment. And then his doubt reasserted itself.
The Lord called you? Yeah, well he called a lot of other guys, too. Every crackpot between Death Valley and Waco believed God had chosen him personally for some grandiose scheme.
And for every crackpot prophet, there were a thousand followers willing to drink the Kool-aide.
#
The courtyard was big, but not big enough to hold everyone, so they ate in shifts, the organizing principle of which Jacob didn’t yet understand. Timothy said Brother Clarence would take him to the irrigation fields, but so far the man hadn’t surfaced. The prophet rejoined his family with pauses to break bread and bless the food for the newest arrivals.
Within another fifteen minutes, most of the men ate and left and only now did Jacob see Brother Clarence. Even the prophet rose to his feet, embraced several children, then left.
Brother Clarence came and sat down. He was not eating. “Ready to work?”
“Absolutely.” He made to stand up.
“No, go ahead and finish. Long time until lunch. You’ll need a good bellyful.”
“I’m done. Just nibbling bread to pass the time until you showed up.”
A woman stood on the far end of the courtyard. “Can I have the sisters’ attention, please?”
To Jacob’s surprise, it was Sister Miriam—FBI Agent Haley Kite, rather.
“I need three sisters to come with me to the farmers market in Price tomorrow to sell produce. We’ve got pickling cucumbers and tomatoes, in addition to the usual baked goods. It will be a good chance to grab supplies in town, if you need anything.”
At least a dozen hands went up. It wouldn’t be hard to find women who were happy to get away from the compound for a day, from cooking, mending, child care. The Lone and Dreary World, it seemed, still had some pull.
Agent Kite would be visiting the town of Price. Away from the men of Zarahemla. Now all Jacob needed was a pretext to get away himself.
Chapter Twelve:
Jacob’s would-be
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