The Lincoln Myth (13 page)

M
ALONE ROSE FROM THE GROUND
.

At the sight and sound of the man with Cassiopeia—whom he assumed was Salazar—opening the French doors, he’d flattened himself behind a thick hedge. Luke, on the far side, had likewise disappeared downward. Thankfully, no one had stepped outside.

Luke stood.

Malone came close and whispered, “Did you know she was here?”

The younger man nodded.

Stephanie had failed to say a word to him, which surely was intentional. He brushed away damp mulch that covered the bed.

The French doors remained open.

He motioned for them to enter.

S
ALAZAR LED
C
ASSIOPEIA THROUGH THE GROUND FLOOR TO A
library that had once been his grandfather’s. It was from his mother’s father that he’d learned to appreciate the way things had existed in the church’s beginning—when heaven ruled absolute—before everything was changed to accommodate
conformity
.

He hated that word.

America professed a freedom of religion, where beliefs were personal and the government stayed out of churches. But nothing could have been farther from the truth. Saints had been persecuted from the beginning. First in New York, where the church was founded, which led to an exodus to Ohio, but the attacks continued. Then the congregation moved to Missouri, and a series of prolonged riots resulted in death and destruction. So they fled to Illinois, but more violence followed, ultimately resulting in a tragedy at the hands of a mob.

Every time he thought of that day his gut churned.

June 27, 1844.

Joseph Smith and his brother were murdered in Carthage, Illinois. The idea had been to destroy the church with the death of its leader. But the opposite had happened. Smith’s martyrdom became a rallying point, and Saints flourished. Which he took as nothing short of divine intervention.

He opened the library door and allowed his guest to enter. He’d purposefully left the lights on earlier, hoping he might have an opportunity to bring her here. He could not have done so any sooner since his prisoner had been jailed nearby. That man’s soul was surely, by now, on its way to Heavenly Father, the blood atonement assuring admittance. He felt content knowing that he’d bestowed his enemy that favor.

“Do not kill a man unless he be killed to save him,”
the angel had many times said.

“I brought you here to see a rare artifact,” he said. “Since we were last together I have become an acquirer of all things related to Saints’
history. I have a large collection, which I keep in Spain. Of late, though, I’ve been privileged to be a part of a special project.”

“For the church?”

He nodded. “I was chosen by one of the elders. A brilliant man. He asked me to work directly with him. I ordinarily would not speak of this, but I think you’ll appreciate it.”

He approached the desk and pointed to a tattered book that lay open on the leather blotter. “Edwin Rushton was an early Saint. He knew Joseph Smith personally and worked closely with him. He was one of those who buried Prophet Joseph after his martyrdom.”

She seemed interested in what he was saying.

“Rushton was a man of God who loved the Lord and was devoted to the restoration. He met many trials in his life and overcame them all. Eventually he settled in Utah and lived there until he died in 1904. Rushton kept a journal. A vital record of the early church that many thought had disappeared.” He pointed toward the desk. “But I recently acquired it.”

A stiff map of the United States sat displayed on a nearby easel, and he saw Cassiopeia glance toward it. He’d pinned markers at Sharon, Vermont. Palmyra, New York. Independence, Missouri. Nauvoo, Illinois. And Salt Lake City, Utah.

“That traces the Saints’ path from where the Prophet Joseph was born, to where the church was formed, then on to Missouri and Illinois where we settled, and finally west. We traversed America and, along the way, became part of its history. More so than anyone even realizes.”

He could see that she was definitely intrigued.

“This journal is documentary proof of that fact.”

“It seems important to you.”

His thoughts were clear. His purpose beyond dispute.

“Tell her,”
the angel said in his head.

“Do you know the White Horse Prophecy?”

She shook her head.

“Let me read you a passage from the journal. It explains a glorious vision.”

M
ALONE HAD MANAGED TO MANEUVER HIMSELF CLOSE TO THE
open door, beyond which he could hear Salazar and Cassiopeia talking. Luke had drifted to other portions of the house, taking advantage of an opportunity to look around. Fine by him. He wanted to know what Cassiopeia was doing with a man who’d killed a U.S. Justice Department agent.

Everything about this rang wrong.

Cassiopeia, a woman he loved, alone with this devil?

He and Cassiopeia had known each other for two years, their beginnings anything but friendly. Only in the past few months had their relationship changed, both of them recognizing that they wanted more from the other, yet neither of them willing to reach too far. He understood that they were not married, nor even engaged, each with their own lives to live as they pleased. But they’d spoken as recently as a few days ago and she’d mentioned nothing about any trip to Denmark. In fact, she told him she was confined to France for the next week, her castle-rebuilding project demanding all of her attention.

A lie.

How many more had she told him?

Outside, he’d caught sight of Salazar. Tall, dark-skinned, hair cut in thick waves. Dressed smartly, too, in a stylish suit. Was he jealous? He certainly hoped not. But he could not deny the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. One he hadn’t felt in a long while. The last time? Nine years ago, when his marriage began to fall apart.

Nothing about that had been good, either.

He’d heard Salazar mention an old journal
recently acquired
and wondered if this was the same artifact Kirk had dangled as bait, the one whose owner was supposedly dead. He also wondered if this was where Kirk had wanted them to end up. After all, the study had specifically been mentioned.

At the moment he possessed too few answers to test any hypothesis.

So he told himself to be patient.

He could not risk a peek past the doorway into the study, his position outside, in the corridor, already precarious. But another open room six feet away offered a retreat.

He stood silent.

Listening.

As Salazar read to Cassiopeia.

SEVENTEEN

O
N THE
6
TH OF
M
AY
, 1843,
A
G
RAND
R
EVIEW OF THE
N
AUVOO
Legion was held. The Prophet Joseph Smith complimented the men for their good discipline. The weather being hot, he called for a glass of water. With the glass in hand, he said, “I will drink a toast to the overthrow of the mobocrats. Here’s wishing they were in the middle of the sea in a stone canoe, with iron paddles, and that a shark swallowed the canoe and the devil swallowed the shark and himself locked up in the northwest corner of hell, the key lost and a blind man hunting it.”

The next morning a man who’d heard the toast returned to visit the house of the prophet and so abused him with bad language that he was ordered out by Smith. My attention was attracted to them, the man speaking in a loud tone of voice. I went towards them, the man finally leaving. Present then was the prophet, Theodore Turley, and myself. The prophet began talking about the mobbings and deridings and persecutions we as a people had endured
.

“Our persecutors will have all the mobbings they want. Don’t wish them any harm, for when you see their sufferings you will shed bitter tears for them.”

While this conversation was going on we stood by the south wicket gate in a triangle. Turning to me, the prophet said, “I want to tell you something of the future. I will speak in a parable like unto John the Revelator. You will go to the Rocky Mountains and you will be a great and mighty people established there, which I will call the White Horse of peace and safety.”

“Where will you be at that time?” I asked
.

“I shall never go there. Your enemies will continue to follow you with persecutions and they will make obnoxious laws against you in Congress to destroy the White Horse, but you will have a friend or two to defend you and throw out the worst parts of the law so they will not hurt you so much. You must continue to petition Congress all the time, but they will treat you like strangers and aliens and they will not give you your rights, but will govern you with strangers and commissioners. You will see the Constitution of the United States almost destroyed. It will hang like a thread as fine as a silk fiber.”

At that time the prophet’s countenance became sad
.

“I love the Constitution. It was made by the inspiration of God, and it will be preserved and saved by the efforts of the White Horse, and by the Red Horse, who will combine in its defense. The White Horse will find the mountains full of minerals and they will become rich. You will see silver piled up in the streets. You will see the gold shoveled up like sand. A terrible revolution will take place in the land of America, such as has never been seen before, for the land will be left without a supreme government, and every specie of wickedness will be practiced rampantly. Father will be against son and son against father. Mother against daughter and daughter against mother. The most terrible scenes of bloodshed, murder, and rape that have ever been imagined or looked upon will take place. People will be taken from the earth, but there will be peace and love only in the Rocky Mountains.”

Here the prophet said that he could not bear to look longer upon the scenes as shown to him in his vision and he asked the Lord to close the scenes
.

Continuing, he said, “During this time the Great White Horse will have accumulated strength, sending out elders to gather the honest in heart from among the people of the United States, to stand by the Constitution of the United States as it was given by the inspiration of God. In these days which are yet to come God will set up a Kingdom never to be thrown down, but other Kingdoms to come into it, and those Kingdoms that will not let the Gospel be preached in their lands will be humbled until they will. Peace and safety in the Rocky Mountains will be protected by the Guardians, the White and Red Horses. The coming of the Messiah among his people will be so natural that only those who see him will know that he has come, but he will come and give his laws unto Zion and minister unto his people.”

Cassiopeia had heard many tales about the Mormons. The religion thrived on grand stories and elaborate metaphors. But she’d never been told the one Josepe had just read to her.