Deseret

By C. Paul Willis

The Mormon Prophet, Brigham Young, had a vision. He would rule the kingdom of Deseret stretching from the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific. In Deseret, the church founded by Joseph Smith would find freedom from its persecutors. In Deseret, the church could practice the doctrines of Polygamy and Blood Atonement that made Young feel so powerful. Two people Brigham Young wanted to share Deseret with him were Christopher Wolf and his strikingly beautiful wife, Ann. Christopher, he wanted as a Danite protector and Ann as one of his plural wives. Ann, however, was as stubborn as she was beautiful and Christopher seemed to have a protector of his own. Did the charm depicting an English Cathedral, hanging around Christopher's neck have some kind of power? Or was it the Indian army scout, whom some Mormons said was an angel who always seemed to show up to upset Brigham Young's plans? Was the temple of Deseret the door to the Celestial Kingdom, or is Jesus Christ the door?

The story of Deseret will carry you through the tumultuous events that helped form the United States as a land from "sea to shining sea," and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints into a unique American religion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781449724337

C. Paul Willis

C. Paul Willis is a Christian pastor, missions director, and Bible teacher whose ministry spans the globe. He has written several books, including two historical novels, Born to Triumph and Deseret. However, many of his previous works are nonfictional studies of the Word of God. The Prestige represents his newest endeavor to impart years of biblical study to the body of Christ, both to the novice and the scholar.

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Copyright © 2011 C. Paul Willis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Deseret is a work of fiction. Words and actions have been given to historical characters to enhance the story. While the Mormon Danites and the doctrines of blood atonement and polygamy are not now practiced by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, polygamy - called the second barbarism in America by Abraham Lincoln - is still a religious practice of many Mormon groups in the western United States.

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-2434-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-2435-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-2433-7 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011914875

Printed in the United States of America

WestBow Press rev. date: 08-31-2011

Dedicated to

My wife, Mary J. Willis, who kept me from

pursuing Mormon temple rights and endowment,

and to

Rev. Corbin Cooper who would not argue religion

but simply introduced me to Jesus Christ

Deseret

The Mormon Prophet, Brigham Young, had a vision. He would rule the kingdom of Deseret stretching from the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific. In Deseret, the church founded by Joseph Smith would find freedom from its persecutors. In Deseret, the church could practice the doctrines of polygamy and blood atonement that made Young feel so powerful. Two people Brigham Young wanted to share Deseret with him were Christopher Wolf and his strikingly beautiful wife, Ann. Christopher, he wanted as a Danite protector and Ann as one of his plural wives. Ann, however, was as stubborn as she was beautiful, and Christopher seemed to have a protector of his own. Did the charm depicting an English Cathedral, hanging around Christopher’s neck, have some kind of power? Or was it the Indian Army scout that some Mormons said was an angel always seeming to show up to upset Brigham Young’s plans?

The story of Deseret will carry you through the tumultuous events which helped form the United States as a land from sea to shining sea, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints into a unique American religion.

Fiction/Historical Adventure

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Resources

About the Author

Chapter 1

The carriage careened from one side of the brick pavement of Saint James Street to the other as it raced out of control. Sparks flew from the iron rims that covered the oak wheels as they slammed into the stone curbing. The four black carriage horses shook their heads wildly, throwing white froth against the darkening sky; the driver’s reins hung perilously close to the hoofs of the lathered steeds.

Christopher Wolf, his body aching and covered with grime from toil, had just entered the crossroad on foot, making his way home from the docks on the River Thames in London. His reaction came mostly by instinct. The burley dockworker’s body was trained by lifting cargo on ropes and pulleys from the pier to the decks and into the holds of the tall sailing vessels leaving London for all parts of the world. His eyes never moved to the frightened face of the carriage driver or to the panic on the faces of the finely dressed passengers. His eyes were fastened on the flopping reins; he saw them as loose ropes ready to send a cargo crashing to the deck and on his fellow stevedores. Every muscle tensed and his feet braced so as not to be pulled under the pounding hoofs or the carriage. His arm shot out with muscles rippling beneath the tightly knit shirt. A jolt came with tremendous force, dragging him alongside the carriage, but he was prepared and retained his stance using his own body weight to counter the rush of the team. The lead horse felt the biting pain from the bit and turned his head trying to avoid it, pulling the bit of the other lead animal into play. The second horse threw his head up, trying to get rid of the pressure of the reins, causing the brass bridle plate containing the silhouette of Westminster Cathedral to hit him between the eyes. The public carriage carrying passengers to the church for Sunday services came to an abrupt stop.

God bless you, man: you saved our lives. Christopher looked up into the pale face of the passenger, a gentleman who had spoken with a trembling voice. Even in the dim light Christopher could tell that the man was impeccably dressed in the highest fashion of 1830s London. The sleeves of his long black tailored frock coat showed a freshly starched white ruffle. His tall hat was made from beaver imported from the Americas. The ruffled collar of his shirt was slightly askew and beads of perspiration showed on his face. A tuft of blond hair stuck out from beneath his hat and Christopher could see that his eyes were blue in color.

Two other passengers were in the coach, another gentleman and his lady. The man’s clothing could not hide the rolls of fat flesh or the fact that he was sweating profusely. The woman had been arrayed in the finest Paris had to offer but now her carefully prepared tresses were in a frenzy, her lavender attire in chaos, her cosmetics running, and her face showing pure panic. Christopher knew in normal circumstances these people and their coach and driver would have driven over him or splashed mud from the pavement on him while passing and have thought nothing of it.

Just trying not to get hurt by stampeding horses, Governor, he replied.

Nevertheless, the man replied in a trembling voice, while his two companions tried to put themselves into some kind of order, take my card. You deserve a reward and I have some information that you might find useful. You will find me at the Lincoln’s Inn this evening.

Don’t need a reward, Christopher answered, I just did what needed to be done.

Pay the man off, the woman said to her plump companion, and have the driver take me back to our lodgings. Who could go to the Cathedral now? I’m feeling faint and I look a fright! Her companion tossed a halfpence coin at Christopher that bounced on the pavement and rolled into the street and the driver, now in control of the horses, turned the horses’ heads to circle the carriage away.

Christopher picked up the card and the bridle plate that had fallen from the carriage along with the coin.

The Lincoln’s Inn off Newgate—tonight! the other called out.

*     *     *

Ann met him at the foot of the stairs to their flat. You could see her Irish breeding in the dark red hair, flashing green eyes, full red lips and lithe form. Got a good dinner for us, I have, she said laughing. Mrs. Brown next door got a hen, fat one it was, and killed it. She said her husband does not like the neck, feet and drumsticks so she gave them to me. I made some meal dumplings and stewed them with the chicken and a few onions. Wash up and I’ll have a real Sunday supper ready.

Most men did not work on the Lord’s Day but when a boat was in port it needed loading and Christopher was glad to get the extra pay. Things were hard at this time in London. The weather seemed to stay cold and damp and coal for the little fireplace in the flat was scarce. Ann and Christopher had married the previous spring and he had not realized that being a woman, she would need things he could get by without.

They had two attic rooms that had walls of dingy white plaster and dark oak beams. A window from each room looked out on the street where street lamps had already been lit. The only furniture was a bed, a table and two chairs but that was about all that the small space could hold. The heat and cooking came from the coal fire. Water had to be carried in by Ann from a public well two streets away and up the stairway. Outside the apartment the street was filled with thieves; even children would pick your pocket. Women sold their bodies for food; murder and rape were not unusual. Work was in short supply and Christopher had to take it whenever he could find it. He wanted to get Ann a warm coat and a second pair of shoes. She would be so pretty if he could dress her like that lady was dressed but Ann’s dress would be green not lavender. Oh, he would like to move her to the country where they could have a garden, green grass and woods to walk in, a warm cozy house to raise a family in! He dreaded the thought of having his children raised on the streets of London.

The chicken and dumplings were as Ann had described, hot and good. She had it poured out into two clay bowls. They had some biscuits and a tankard of ale to go with the meal. While they were eating, Christopher told her about his day, the cargo of tea, leather goods, and materials, going on the ship that was to be carried to the Americas and the incident with the carriage and horses. He tried to make it seem trivial but Ann wanted to know what the lady was wearing and laughed when he told her of the lady’s appearance after the carriage ride. When he told her about the man and the invitation to the Lincoln’s Inn she got excited.

Do go, Chris! She always called him by the shortened name when she wanted something. You can never tell what fate has brought. The man might have a good job for you. You saved his life and he may want to reward you handsomely.

All I did was stop the horses, Christopher replied. That hardly counts for saving someone’s life. The chap owes me nothing for that!

Well, the gentleman may feel differently about it, she answered, her voice showing the excitement of the anticipated reward.

Don’t know if I want to go to the Lincoln’s Inn. he grinned. There might be some ladies of the evening there that would tempt a gentleman like me—not that I would have the price they would ask, mind you!

How would you know what hangs out at the Lincoln’s? she asked, pretending irritation.

Now don’t get yourself in a huff, he replied, like as if I have ever had enough to lift a pint in the place, much less take one of the ladies out!

As she got up from the table she pretended a slap at him, I’ll bet you would like to try—but you had better not—Christopher Wolf.

Then settled it is, he answered, You don’t want me to go!

Don’t want you to go? she exclaimed, It will take more than ladies of the evening that you have never met to rob me of my reward.

"Your reward? he echoed, What did you do to get a reward?"

Married Christopher Wolf, the hero she said as she kissed him and at the same time removed a bowl from the table.

*     *     *

The fat man looked intently at his companion sitting in the inn’s dining room

Another one of Wesley’s converts turn you down, Cowdery? he asked. It wouldn’t seem so hard to get a man to sell his soul.

I am not trying to get men to sell their souls—the Church of England at Westminster can not save it, Oliver Cowdery answered. The prophet asked which church was the right one and he was told neither!

Ah, said the other, taking a long drink from his tankard of strong ale. Though I agree that the Church of England cannot save a man, ‘which church’ is not the question the Wesley revival here in England asked. Wesley taught them to ask, ‘What must I do to be saved?’

That’s the same question, Oliver Cowdery replied.

Far from it,’ the other answered, taking another swig from his mug. It would also make it easier for you if your prophet had not decided that drinking ale was a sin. It’s folly to try to convert a man in a public house to a religion that condemns exactly what he came into the public house to do. I understand, however, that he encourages you when it comes to the women—that is jolly!"

Those are only rumors, Cowdery showed his disgust at the way the conversation had turned.

Still I might take you up on your proposition if I were a younger man. The prospects of adventure in the Colonies, free land, wealth, and more than one wife are very intriguing to a member of the Church of England. I don’t believe in all that personal salvation stuff Wesley taught so I would not be selling my soul. I, however, am too well set with the business of the Realm. The business of selling goods both to the Colonies and to France is too good—too profitable. And I don’t need multiple wives; what pleasures I can have, I can purchase quite easily anywhere in London. But, I think, he held his now almost empty tankard in the air, that the drink keeping me out of Mormon heaven is enough to tip the scales against your prophet. Oliver Cowdery started to leave the room but just then Christopher Wolf came in the door.

Christopher had never been on the inside of an English inn and pub before. The ground floor had a low ceiling; he felt he had to bend his head in order to keep it from hitting the large dark wooden beams that were the support of the inn. The wall space between the beams was white plaster and tall enough to stand comfortably. A slight haze filled the room. It came from a huge open fireplace upon which were burning great logs and the oil lamps that lit the room. The room was filled with tables and chairs that matched the wood in the beams. Along one wall was a counter made of the same wood and behind it stacked in frames were large cages from which bar maids poured out tankards of ale and beer. Some bottles covered with a straw shield were on the counter; they were filled with rum and fine liquors. Near the end of the counter was a stair going up to the bedrooms of the inn. A buxom woman wearing only a red petticoat, not the same lady who had been in the coach, was coming down the stair leading a man who was still putting on his pants. The woman gestured toward Christopher, Want some lad? she said in a drunken slur. Christopher turned back toward to the door, certain he had told Ann the right thing—he had no business in a public house!

Over here! Cowdery called.

Christopher turned toward him—it was too late to walk out now.

Cowdery came with his hand outstretched in greeting. I’m so glad you decided to come. I have a friend I want you to meet, he said, taking Christopher by the hand and not waiting for a reply. He said something to one of the women behind the counter and led Christopher to a private table in the corner. Would you have something to eat or something to drink? Once more he did not wait for an answer but added, My name is Oliver Cowdery—and what may I call you?

Christopher Wolf, Christopher was barely able to get the reply out.

Mr. Wolf, or, may I call you Christopher? Please call me Oliver; after all, you saved my life! He continued without waiting for a reply. Christopher, I would like you to meet my traveling companion—this is John D. Lee! John, this is the man I told you about. The man who jumped in front of stampeding horses and with sheer brute strength wrestled them, including a carriage, myself, a young lady and the gentlemen over there who is now drinking a tankard of ale, to a complete stop! John, this is the hero, Christopher Wolf!

Mr. Wolf! John D. Lee was tall, so tall he had to keep his head bowed to keep from striking the ceiling. He was thin in stature with an elongated face and hooked nose, the hair on his head was thick, brown and made a peek at his forehead. He, like the man called Cowdery, was wearing the traditional long black coat of an English gentleman. The hand he held out for Christopher was large with long fingers. I am delighted you came, Mr. Wolf, I can see that you would have the strength to handle the horses. His eyes followed Christopher’s chest, biceps ands muscular form. I understand that Oliver promised you a reward.

That’s not why I came! Christopher answered looking at the floor.

Let us be truthful with each other, Mr. Wolf. That is precisely why you came, and I admire you for it. But before you leave I hope you receive more than the reward you came for.

Now, John D. Lee was intently studying Christopher’s face. His gaze was very disconcerting; his eyes were black and seemed to be looking into Christopher’s soul. His hand reached into a large black pouch and he laid two things on the table as Oliver Cowdery and Christopher sat down. The first were the pages of a large printed manuscript in a leather folder. The second object was a gold coin upon which was engraved the sovereign of England. Christopher had never had a gold sovereign in his life but he knew that the value of the coin was equal to one month’s wages on the docks.

This is the reward promised, Mr. Lee said as he sat at the table and pushed the coin in front of Christopher, but this is more valuable. He laid his hands on the manuscript with great respect.

Mr. Wolf, can you read?

Yes, Christopher nodded. I learned to read at a public Sunday school. They taught us to read from the Bible. I read the whole book but it didn’t mean much to me!

John D. Lee continued, I am going to give you this manuscript to read. But I want to tell you how it came about. A young boy in New York, a place in the colonies, was concerned about the churches. There was a great religious fervor in the land. Great masses of people were having religious experiences in a place called Cane Creek, Kentucky. Wesley, the Methodists from England, the Presbyterians from Scotland, and the Baptists from America, were all declaring their particular religion to be the right one. The young boy lived in what we call the territory of New York but the religious fervor had come to his place. He went into the woods to pray and two persons appeared to him. One said, This is my beloved Son, hear Him! The boy’s name is Joseph Smith. He was told not to join any church; they were all corrupt but he would be instructed as to how to restore the true church.

Christopher raised his eyebrows in a gesture of unbelief but Mr. Lee continued.

Later an angel came to Joseph, and the angel’s name was Moroni. The angel told him where he could find gold plates upon which were written the history of God’s dealings with Jews in the new world. Joseph dug up the plates, translated them with the help of two seer stones in silver bowls that was with them and this manuscript is that translation. Joseph Smith is building the promised new Israel in the new world. It is the promised land of milk and honey. I want you to take the manuscript home and read it. See if it speaks the truth to you. If you believe the words, I want to invite you and your wife, if you are married, to come with us to form a new kingdom. You can pay for your passage by working on the ship. You will have lands in the new world so rich that you plant the seed and the crop comes up. There is plenty of food and space, a place to have a family with wealth and security where you can help build the new Kingdom of God!

Christopher looked at the two men to see if they were serious. Go to the New World? Take Ann across the sea and build a new kingdom, the new Israel, and a New Kingdom of God? One look at their faces and he realized that they believed what they were saying—they really believed!

Thank you for the sovereign, I really did nothing to deserve it, he told them, and I promise I’ll read your book. But, I need to be getting back to my missus, it’s a long walk back to the flat and she’ll be getting worried. He put the gold sovereign in a vest pocket the case with the manuscript under his right arm and left the Inn scarcely able to believe his good fortune.

The evening fog had settled as usual when Chris entered the street from the Inn. Not being use to the neighborhood Chris had a difficult time finding his directions so he stepped off the curb and allowed the street to guide him. Many times he had used the same method when returning from the docks. He had only gone a few yards from the Inn when the man spoke to him from the dark.

I’ll have your purse, please.

Chris saw the dim outline of the two of them in the light coming from the windows of the Inn. He also saw the flash of light from the knife blade. His reaction was instinctive. The leather folder with the manuscript swung at the knife while his left hand smashed into the face of the other man. Still spinning with the folder Chris smashed his heavy leather boot into the leg bone of his opponent. The point of the knife caught the leather ripping the manuscript cover but taking the knife out of the man’s hand. Chris felt the warm blood from the face of the man to his left on his hand and arm. The two men disappeared into the night but Chris could tell form the sounds that one was limping.

I hope that legs broke! Chris yelled into the dark. Thought I was a drunken gentleman coming out of the Inn, Chris said to himself, I told Ann that a public house was no place for men like me to go—I’ll bet those two take a closer look at who they plan to rob next time!

*     *     *

Brigham Young looked at the long line of wagons rolling on the mud street of the village of Kirtland, Ohio and smiled. They were pouring into Kirtland. The Campbellite preacher, Sidney Rigdon, a fiery preacher of flashing black eyes, wild long hair and full beard, had brought his entire 127 member congregation into the church. Now others were coming from the east and from Europe. The saints now totaled over 1,000 believers in Kirtland. Joseph’s book and new religion were attracting settlers, and settlers meant wealth and power. Joseph Smith might be the prophet but Brigham would be the king! Already the church was forming into a kingdom within a nation. Democracy in the new America brought political and religious freedom but it also brought the opportunity for control of the masses. Had not the masses of Europe proven that ‘might give the right?’ With Joseph’s new church came the opportunity to have a government within a government, a kingdom within America. Joseph could be the new prophet but Brigham would be the power. The Temple being built, the old Masonic secret rituals, and a new Knight’s Templar would insure it.

Brigham Young, however, was not quite sure about the prophet Joseph Smith. Joseph’s brothers were Masons. Joseph, himself, had started the Lodge in Kirtland. According to Masonic legend it all started with the masons rebuilding the wall in Jerusalem. The Knights Templar were the men set to protect Jerusalem but raped it of all its historical and material wealth. The masons working on the wall found gold plates that told of the rituals of Solomon and the Jewish priesthood. The Knights Templar used these rituals to form a secret society of great power and wealth. It was not until King Phillip IV of France saw that their power was a threat to his throne and had the leaders executed that the Templar’s power abated. Some of the knights, however, fled to Scotland and there they formed the secret order of Scottish Rights Masons.

The Masons already had great political power in America. One could not be elected President if he was not a Mason and Joseph had designs on the American presidency. The Capital city of Washington was being planned according to secret Masonic symbols. Now Joseph, just like the masons in Jerusalem but in New York, said he had found the gold plates from which he translated the Book of Mormon. Joseph said God had told him to reinstate the Jewish priesthood and the temple with its secret ritual, which was almost a parallel to the rites of the Masons. Was it all genuine, a direct order from God or was it a copy of the Masons with some Jewish and American things thrown in? Did it matter?

Elder Sampson Avard had formed his own secret group within the secrets of the priesthood. He called them Danites after the children of the tribe of Dan of whom the Bible said would be an adder in the path. These groups, also called Avenging Angels, were bound by penalty oaths and were pledged to plunder, lie and even kill if deemed necessary. Avard had formed the group for retribution against any who would dissent Joseph’s rule but Brigham found that he could use them to retaliate against any anti-Mormonism and to work by stealth anywhere in the world he sent them. He had under his control a society of religious zealots trying to attain a higher heaven with earthly power. They would protect the church and its leaders with an armed force; they would kill, pillage, and rape any Gentile or non-Mormon, and they swore a blood oath to cut the throat and disembowel any who tried to leave the church or