artin Harris was a believer. In any cause that was fashionable, mind you, Martin was the first to sign on and express his undying devotion to whatever come what may.
He had been a Quaker, but, being a talkative and excitable man, their silent halls of unspoken prayer had not been to his liking. Next, Martin had tried Universalism, but being not much of an intellectual, most of their theology went right over his head. So, in the early autumn of 1827, Martin Harris was ripe for a new religion.
And Joseph wasnt even aware of it.
ow, to all outward appearances, Joseph was the dutiful son, working long hours harvesting crops in the fields that soon could be taken away from his family. Emma, pleased by his sudden maturity, expected great things from him when they were at last to be settled in their own home—
Until the day Joseph came back unusually late from gathering some wild herbs in the woods for her. Emma fancied herself a medicine woman, having learned the art of brewing healing potions and poltices using native plants from her own mother and the women of Harmony. She had suffered from the early morning sickness that was so common to women in her condition and had sent her husband to find some wild mint to soothe her stomach.
She never got the mint.
Joseph, where have you been? Emma cried as he straggled into the house long after sundown. Your suppers gone cold, and your father wants to talk to you about mending the pasture fence . . .
Emmas voice faded away as she noticed fresh dirt on Josephs hands and clothing.
Oh, no, youve not been digging—you promised me you wouldnt touch that stone ever again!
Hush, Emma. Josephs river-blue eyes had a far-off look, his face devoid of color. I have found something of great importance.
By now the whole family had gathered round the table and noticed a rough cloth sack in Josephs hand. He slowly raised the sack and let it drop with a solid thud on the table surface. Emma reached over to grab the offending object and was pushed roughly aside in a sudden desperate movement by her errant husband.
You cannot see it and live! he shrieked. His unworldly voice and pale face put the very fear of God within his loved ones souls, even dampening Emmas rage at being knocked about in so unseemly a fashion.
What is it, son? Father Smith asked in a barely audible whisper. Is it . . . gold?
Better than gold. It is in fact an ancient legacy left by those who dwelled in these lands long ago.
It was common knowledge that a so-called Golden Bible had been found in the trunk of a tree somewhere in Canada, and it had made great newspaper copy while the perpetrators bluff lasted. The incident had been written about in all the local papers as well, but, fortunately for Joseph, not many in his family or the immediate community could afford to buy a newspaper regularly, nor read it if they could.
I have been commanded by Gods angels to translate these golden plates words so that all of mankind may learn of their wisdom, Joseph intoned with great dignity.
Emma blinked twice and shook her head, trying to focus on the man before her that she barely recognized as her husband. He had changed. But she couldnt quite put her finger on it—was it his voice or his sudden interest in whatever was inside the dirt-covered bag sitting in the middle of her in-laws table? Anyway, his dreaded seer stone was nowhere to be seen.
God be praised! shouted Mother Smith. A miracle! We have witnessed a miracle! Emma looked twice at her and the others—their eyes were as fixed upon Josephs shining face as the mens eyes had been on the luminous seer stone when Joseph had revealed it to her father only two years ago. She wanted to believe . . .
Joseph, what is really in the sack? she asked. Her flat voice broke the silence and brought all eyes away from the man of the hour to her small, doubt-filled face.
It is as I told you, dearest Emma, he replied calmly. Here, Father, look upon the golden plates for yourself.
No, son. I will not test God. Ifn it be as you say, I will not risk death to gaze upon them. Somehow Emma had expected her gray-haired, bent-over, conquered-by-life father-in-law to act in just that sort of manner, and she knew Joseph did as well.
Quick, Carlos, Mother Smith commanded. Fetch your brother Hyrum from his place and let him know the good news Joseph has brung us.
Yesm! Freckle-faced Don Carlos gladly danced out into the night.
Emma could sense their excitement but couldnt bring herself to join in. She had lived among them for nearly a year now—suffering the same sorrows and hardships—but her spirit was not yet so low, so puny, that it would jump for joy at the sign of a so-called miracle. It was as if they were all being washed away in a flood of troubles and Josephs latest declaration was the lifeline that would drag them all to a safe shore.
She wanted to believe . . .
Finally Emma asked, Joseph, if no one can look upon these plates and live, then how do you plan to translate them?
Puzzled, Joseph looked blankly into her hazel eyes for a long moment. Then he slowly turned his head as if he was looking upward into the heavens.
I have the stones—Urim and Thummim—which God himself led me to in order to translate his words, he explained as he pulled two milky-colored, egg-shaped pebbles from his trouser pocket.
Emma visibly flinched as she gripped the tables edge. She felt herself falling—her whole world was falling—into the dark depths of a money-diggers hole.
o matter how quiet the family kept about Josephs wonderful discovery, the word got out, and it was Martin Harris who spread its message better than anybody. Hyrum had mentioned something about it off-handedly to Martin while in town one day, and, before the dust had settled, Martin was at the Smiths door begging for a look-see.
Now, Martin, you cannot gaze upon it and live, Joseph explained slowly. He liked the round-faced, yet sad-eyed, Martin Harris, as he was a congenial sort, possessing much good land and capital. Joseph had even done a little treasure hunting in the past with the old man until the real head of the family—Martins wife—had heard tell of it and cut off the funding posthaste.
Yes, yes, but Joseph! You do not understand the true significance of a miracle such as this—God himself has entrusted you with his words, but you are still quite young and know nothing of matters of religious import.
This was true. Joseph had spent much more time in the woods searching for silver mines and Indian relics than he ever had inside a church house. He had read the Bible some, but merely as a literary exercise and nothing much was taken to heart. Joseph was a victim of his times: This godless new country called America had completely separated Church and State. Had he been born in his grandparents time, the Church of England would have made certain he knew his catechism backwards and forwards. As it was, America had given birth to all sorts of odd sects which had popped up across the countryside, setting up camp revivals and momentarily convincing the wilderness populace that Jesus loved them and to love their neighbor likewise—up until your neighbor encroached upon your land, permanently borrowed your best breeding bull, or ran off with your youngest daughter—then you had the right to bear arms and blow his head off in the name of justice. Still, what with Martin Harris erratic religious background, Joseph wasnt quite convinced he was a man to be trusted on these matters, either.
Yes, I am young, Martin, but God has entrusted me with his words, and I shall do my best to share them with my fellowman.
Oh, if I could only help you, my dear boy. How much have you been able to translate of the Golden Plates?
Only a little so far, Joseph lied, As I have been fasting and praying for guidance to do so in the proper manner.
No pen had been laid to paper as yet, for Josephs vain attempts were far from acceptable and he knew it. Joseph could read well enough, speak quite eloquently considering his poor background, but he lacked any grammatical sense whatsoever. Coupled with this was the fact that he was constantly surrounded by family and farm chores and nosey neighbors—Joseph had not yet been able to plan exactly what he was going to write.
What you need is a secretary. I would be more than willing to help you—I would be honored, Martin said with boyish enthusiasm, crossing his hands on his heart and jutting out his scraggly bearded chin. Not a bad idea, Joseph thought and agreed. But where could they work in peace on this magnum opus?
My father-in-law has promised us a place to stay in Pennsylvania, Joseph remarked casually. If only I could afford to move and live there unencumbered, then I would have the serenity of the quiet woodlands and be far from the troubles of the world here.
I may just be able to help in some small way, my boy. Martin grinned. He patted the small money pouch he kept in his coat pocket. The sound of clanking change brought a smile to Josephs face. And after the book is completed, Martin added, I would be more than happy to help get it published.
If Joseph had not believed there was a God smiling down upon him from heaven before, he did so now.
mma was both sad and happy to be returning to Harmony. Happy to be home again, sad to have to tell her father about her husbands latest exploit. They were moving in late January 1828, long before springtime was truly to begin, and all at the expense of one Martin Harris. Emma didnt understand the exact arrangements Joseph had made with his neighbor and patron, and she was more than anxious as to how Joseph would please the doddering older gentlemen.
But as they left New York behind, a sense of quiet contentment settled upon Emma, viewing through lovers eyes her boyish husband sitting beside her in the rented wagon. She was lucky to have found such a good-looking man, one that was a year or so younger than herself, fairly fit of limb—for Joseph had a slight limp due to a bone infection in his right knee, which he had suffered as a child—one who was quick-witted and not a dull and plodding man of the soil. But, sometimes, she did wish he was more of a farmer; despite all its hardships and drudgery, farming was a respected and honorable profession. Maybe he would be interested in learning a trade such as blacksmithing or coopering . . .
But the thought of a coopers shop left her with a cold and clammy feeling that had nothing whatsoever to do with the chilly weather. It was in the coopers shop across the road from his fathers place that Joseph had resorted to hiding his golden plates once the general populace had learned of his great discovery. Martin Harris had become Josephs publicity man as well as patron, and within a week, there had been a mob surrounding the Smith farm demanding to see what Mother Smith had dramatically termed The Record. It was fortunate she and her husband were away visiting relations on one fateful day.
Joe—let us see these here plates Harris has told us about, a not-so-friendly neighbor had yelled while banging on the door early one morning.
And the angels, too. Wed be much obliged if youd introduce us all to them, another added. The crowd was hooting and hollering.
Emma knew their vulgar taunts were just a beginning. Many were former clients of Josephs money-digging business and were aching to exact their revenge. Tarring and feathering was a practice to be feared.
Meanwhile, Joseph had rushed downstairs from their bedroom to the plates hiding place beneath the hearthstone.
They must not lay hold of the plates! he whispered to his brothers. It would be the end of everything.
The end of the world for those ruffians, you mean, Emma thought as she hurried down the steps to aid her husband.
Quick, Samuel, run across to the coopers shop with them, Joseph commanded his obedient brother. He quickly handed the linen bag in which the golden plates resided tothe towheaded teenager. Hide them in the barrel out where the cooper keeps his wood chips. Use the back way and be careful not to be seen—now, hurry! Don Carlos, go to the cellar and fetch some refreshment for our guests. William, you know what to do, dont you?
Aye, I do, grinned the family trickster. Dark of hair and eyes, something equally dark was always lurking behind Williams omnipresent grin.
Dont you think the coopers would be an unsafe place as well? Emma asked as she watched William leave through the front door with a milk pail and Samuel go with his precious burden out the back door.
Perhaps so, but Gods angels shall protect them. Joseph smiled. Come, let us greet our early morning guests.
Joseph strode boldly onto the porch. Gentlemen, what may I do for you today?
We want to see The Record that we heard tell from Martin Harris, the mob leader demanded.
And so you shall—in the fullness of time, Joseph added with emphasis. From the corner of her eye, Emma caught sight of Samuel running toward the barn but made no acknowledgement of it in her demeanor.
Would any of you kind sirs want to partake of some breakfast? Emma croaked. Joseph looked surprised, but pleased, at his wife. He was amazed by her quick thinking.
No, maam, came the general reply. The crowd was growing restless and a bit uncomfortable, what with a woman in their midst. Emma spotted William exiting out the back of the barn with something under his milking tunic. Samuel walked slowly back to the house with a linen bag.
There goes one of them with the goods! A man pointed at Samuel. After him!
The men went hooting and hollering after the poor boy. Samuel made a noble attempt to make it to the safety of the house, but one of mob tackled him and grabbed the sack.
Theres nothin in it but sawdust! the rogue spat.
Whats your game, Smith? the mob leader growled. You claim you see angels, but you pull tricks like the devil. The mood was growing more sullen by the minute.
Just then, Don Carlos appeared miraculously at the front door, holding a jug of whiskey under each arm.
Can I interest any of you gentlemen in a sip of homemade ale? Joseph queried. Emma managed a quick glance at her husband: The sweat was pouring down his face in streams, but his smile remained the same.
Aye! But we still want to see those plates, the mob leader replied.
Of course, Joseph said, passing around the libation.
Emma slipped silently into the house and immediately went to her room to lie down.
After an hours worth of cursing and drinking, the mob finally dispersed and staggered their separate ways home, forgetting what had brought them out in the first place.
But Emmas heart couldnt stop racing. Joseph alone had brought some of the communitys disdain upon himself, she felt, what with his former business practices, and the fact that he had let his brothers and their friends actually lift the plates while they were contained within a clapboard box Joseph had fashioned for them. He was teasing people— lift them but dont look at them. Emma wondered why Joseph simultaneously craved both secrecy and publicity for his unheard of find. It was a question she knew would haunt her over and over again.
At that moment, however, the bigger question was what exactly was in the box. Emma had been thoroughly frightened by Josephs pronouncement of death to whomever might gaze upon the plates without Gods expressed permission. She had been a dutiful wife and had not broken her promise, despite her curiosity and bewilderment. But she had sinned—a little.
Late one evening, while the menfolk had gathered around the hearth, the plates had lain on the table, loosely covered in a linen table cloth. Emma had been dutifully dusting the table when she barely touched the ancient artifact with a stray finger. Odd, they did have a sort of metal sound to them, and, turning her back toward the happy gathering at the fire, she had proceeded to dust carefully all around the sacred objects.
They seemed to be made of a pliable material, as Emmas hand did accidentally press slighter harder than intended against the cloth, whereas the secret within bent ever so slightly. The edges made a sort of rustling sound, she had noted—as she unintentionally thumbed them—as if they were pages of a thick-papered book.
What Emma could not have known then, and never did learn of later, was that many an object such as the one she felt through the cloth were common in the Indian mounds that peppered the countryside of western New York. It was pliable since it was made of copper. It had edges such as a book has edges, since it was folded up upon itself. It was an Indian warriors breastplate, and it was practically worthless because of its commonplaceness.
Worthless to all except Joseph Smith.
Worthless unless it had been sent by Gods angels.
mmas father was surprised, yet pleased, upon their return to Harmony. He furnished them with a small cabin on some land he owned jus outside of town, promising Joseph that, come the spring thaw, they would talk of plowing and planting, then went back to his winter hunting activities. In the meantime, Emma was content to set up house and ready herself for the arrival of their child in late spring.
But Martin Harris had difficulties getting away from his business—namely, his wife would not let him go on such a foolhardy adventure. He wrote to say he would be coming along shortly, but to feel free to start the translation without him. Thus, in addition to housekeeper, Emma was appointed to a new position.
Joseph, I do not write any better than you, she protested. I know not the correct way to spell, nor the rules of proper English—
No matter, dearest Emma, God will endow your beautiful hands with abilities beyond your wildest dreams, he drawled, kissing her hands as would a knight of old kiss the hands of a fair lady. Flattery would get him anywhere with Emma. She blushed from the part of her chestnut hair to her demurely covered ankles.
All right. How do we begin?
You shall sit here, he said, seating Emma at the foot of the long table, and I will be seated . . . here. He was far across from her at the tables head. Still, something was not quite right, Emma sensed. After a moments hesitation, he pulled the shiny pebbles from his coat pocket and placed them before his eyes.
It was indeed miraculous, Emma thought. Joseph could read the plates through their linen covering with the help of the little stones he called Urim and Thummim. If Emma had been a biblical scholar, she would have recognized how appropriate those terms were, as they were the names of the ancient magic lots that were carried on the breastplate of the High Priest of Israel. Unfortunately, she was not a scholar in any sense of the word. Her reading and writing skills were sufficient for a woman of her station and nothing more. The translation work proceeded at a tedious pace.
Slow up, Joseph, Emma said with a frustration that was becoming more frequent with the passing days. I cannot write as fast as you speak.
Forgive me. Let us call it a night, Joseph consented sullenly. Martin would have to be a better secretary than Emma, he groaned to himself. But he knew she was doing her best, and he was devoted both to her and her happiness
You are forgiven, dearest. Emma smiled.
So little could make her happy, Joseph thought, and he wished to give her everything in the world.
The stories are so . . . Emma struggled to find the word. Hmmm—fanciful—that I forget that I am growing fatigued. Will you please help me up from my chair?
Nothing could please me more. It is time you are to bed—you must rest well for our coming little visitor, he added as he gently picked her up to carry her into their small bedroom. But as he carried her toward the door, the toe of her boot knocked the corner of the cloth—the cloth covering the golden plates—and it slid unhindered to the floor.
Emmas gaze was drawn immediately to the spot. There they were—the golden plates! But they were not so golden in the dim lamplight. Joseph rushed with his delicate burden through the bedroom doorway, unceremoniously dumping Emma onto the bed.
Joseph! Emma cried, righting herself on the bedstead. I saw the plates—and lived!
You did not! Joseph replied as he ran back to the table and hastily wrapped the offending objects in their cloth. He stormed to the clapboard box on the mantle and placed the things inside, slamming the lid tightly.
But I did! If I have been chosen by God to help you with the translation, then it must be safe for me to gaze upon them as well. Emma was on her feet now and joyfully bounding into the great room to celebrate with her highly favored-of-God spouse.
To bed, Woman!
Emma froze. Why was he not glad that she had been equally blessed by God?
But theres no need to hide them from me anymore, she explained softly. Maybe it will even help in their translation if I could see them—
You shall never see them, Joseph said with finality. He took the box and a shovel standing beside the door, walking out into the silence of the night to bury the first of many things that he would keep secret from his beloved Emma.
© 1999 Cynthia Appel
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