Susan Evans McCloud - Kirtland: Novel of Courage and Romance

Another May Day. I find myself in a new place, where everything is changed and different; even myself. Earlier this morning the day appeared promising, with nothing more than a cool breeze blowing in from the lake. Now the wind has risen. The grasses bend to it, and the high arms of the giant horse chestnut trees flail against the cold blast shuddering through them. I shudder, too, in anticipation and perhaps with a small sensation of fear.

Not hesitation, but more like a sense of awkwardness and wonder. I am twenty-five years old, I have a two-year-old daughter, and I have left home and family and everything I ever loved since I can remember so that in a few moments I might wade down into the chilly waters of the Chagrin River to be baptized. Immersed. I was not immersed as a child or a baby; I have never experienced anything like this in my life. I look to find Eugene, standing near enough to the edge that the water laps over his feet. Georgie smiles and hugs her arms to her body the way we did when we were young. Suddenly I am back in Palmyra, and we girls, all five of us, are dressed in the shimmering linen-soft gowns of Phoebes creation. Because of Phoebe we know that we are the best-dressed girls there. The boys glance at us in open admiration. Tillie giggles and Josephine preens. Phoebe and I turn sideways and pretend not to notice, but our faces are shining. And the Maypole waitsalmost seems to shimmer in anticipationits long streamers flowing in splashes of color as brilliant as new spring blossoms.

Esther

With a start I come back to reality, to the small group huddled beneath the wide chestnut tree. I return Georgies smile, but I know that my mouth is trembling. Peter and Jack are here. They, too, belong to those May days when all was gaiety and nonsense and high, bright hopes. I recall the hopes with which Peter and his brother went forth to work on the canal; the unknowing, untutored excitement and eagerness...

I see Bishop Whitney. He is dressed in white, for he is to perform the baptisms. He approaches Eugene and places a hand on his arm. Sister Whitney stands with a small knot of ladies, Brother Josephs mother, Lucy Smith, among them. Both women turn and smile at me; gentle smiles of kindness and encouragement. The trembling inside me increases, and I realize that I want to do this more than I have ever wanted to do anythingeven marry Eugene, even give birth to my daughter. This knowledge thrills through me with a sudden warmth and amazes me anew.

I walk with steady purpose toward the waters edge. Although the chill air reaches under my shift and the simple dress I am wearing, I no longer mind. I feel solemn, almost regal. I walk with my head up, and when my eyes meet Eugenes they are swimming with tears.

Eugene goes first. He reaches for my hand, and our fingers entwine automatically, for no more than the space of a heartbeat, before he moves on. I wonder what my husband is thinking as Brother Whitney raises his arm above his head and speaks with quiet authority.

I think, A year ago I would never have dreamed that this moment could happen. Why, it has been little more than six months since I returned from my visit to Georgie in this place and discovered that my husbandwho had forbidden me to touch ithad read Joseph Smiths Book of Mormon from cover to cover and was in his heart converted. This I had never expected. He had shown no previous interest, while I had. Perhaps if Georgeanna had not been so enthusiastically devoted to the new cause, if she had not virtually glowed when she spoke of that bookperhaps if I had not experienced that night outside my parents house when Joseph Smith prayed for my young brother, and felt the gentleness and power of the young prophets spirit for myself

Who can say? Who can unravel the many interwoven threads that make up the tapestry of our desires, perceptions, and decisions? Was it somehow inevitable that I find myself here on the rich frontier lands of Ohio starting a new life, doing something brave, perhaps even extraordinary?