Mighty and Strong (The Righteous) Read online

  “Can you have him call when he gets a chance? I'd like to talk to him today, if at all possible.”

  She didn't know how much the FBI had told Dr. Hess, but apparently not that he'd be incommunicado. “I'm not sure when I'll talk to him next. It could be several days. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, there is.” Hess paused on the other end, then cleared his throat. “You may as well know, since I'm guessing you're in charge of the money while he's gone.”

  “I handle all the finances,” she said. “What is it, Dr. Hess?”

  “I don't know how much you know about our hospital, but we receive public funding for several programs. One comes from the State to attract and hire medical staff to Sanpete County. One of the state-funded programs allows us to offer a bonus stipend to residents in return for a commitment to work in our hospital when they finish their residencies.”

  “Yes, I know. That's Jacob's program.”

  Hess cleared his throat a second time. “I took a call from the Attorney General a few minutes ago. I've been ordered to terminate Jacob's employment due to a pending investigation into bigamy charges.”

  “Bigamy? What?”

  “You know, the uhm, the polygamy thing.”

  “I know what bigamy means.” Her grip tightened on the phone. In the background, she could hear the children, squabbling. Everything sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away.

  “They need to investigate.”

  “But I don't understand. Didn't the FBI agents come to the hospital?” She forced herself to remain calm, to steady the trembling in her hands. “Didn't they tell you? The FBI investigation?”

  “I'm in a hell of a situation, Mrs. Christianson. You've got to understand that. Your husband is a good doctor, and I do want to cooperate with the FBI, if I can. But it's not just Jacob at risk here. The Attorney General is Senator McKay's brother, and the McKay brothers have a lot of pull in the legislature. We could lose funding for the entire program.”

  “A senator? Why would he care? I don't understand.”

  “Neither do I. However. . .”

  “But isn't there anything you can do?”

  “Tell me honestly, how many wives does Jacob have?”

  “Just one, just me. I'm telling the truth, I swear it. But what does that have to do with what kind of a doctor he is, anyway?”

  “If Jacob only has one wife, and you can be sure no investigation will show anything else, we might get past this. What I'll do, yes, I'll put him on unpaid leave, pending investigation from the A.G.'s office. He won't be officially terminated. If Jacob has only one wife, really, truly, then I'm sure he'll be cleared sooner or later.”

  “What do you mean, unpaid leave? You can't do that, there's a contract.”

  Hess ignored her objection. “If you hear anything from Jacob, have him call me as soon as possible. We'll do what we can. You think maybe tonight? I'll be at the hospital.”

  “I have no idea,” Fernie said. “He's working with the FBI and they don't—”

  “It's going to take time, Mrs. Christianson. But try not to worry, we'll sort it out in the end.”

  “In the end? How long will that be? Please, wait until you talk to Jacob, I'm sure he'll be able to clear this up. I—”

  “Yes, you do that, have him call. Oops, I've got an urgent page. Got to go. Goodbye.”

  The line went dead.

  Was she supposed to be grateful for the warning? All she could think was, unpaid leave. Unpaid. Tomorrow was Friday, and she'd been counting on Jacob's paycheck hitting the account. Right now, her balance was $97.62, with rent due on Monday. And three children to feed.

  In the next room, the baby started to fuss.

  Fernie looked down at her left hand. It still clutched the pregnancy test. A big pink plus sign left no doubt as to the result.

  Chapter Eleven:

  Three men laid their hands on Jacob's head the following morning.

  It was dawn and Jacob sat in the courtyard, with the men in a circle around him. Cold stone against his bare feet, a cool breeze that ruffled his hair. The sound of laundry flapping. Six warm hands stacked on his head. They smelled like lye soap.

  The Prophet spoke the blessing. “Brother Jacob, in the name of Jesus Christ, and by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood, we lay our hands upon thy head and call thee to the final gathering of Israel.”

  After driving along a ranch road for fifteen, twenty miles into the Manti Mountains, they had passed through a pair of chain link fences and approached Zarahemla itself. The compound was built of plastered adobe brick, with rooms that opened into common spaces. It resembled an old Spanish mission with a bland exterior and an intimate interior.

  They gave him a tiny, austere room that opened onto an arcaded corridor. Brother Timothy's own family occupied the rooms on the opposite side of a square framed by the arcades. The ground between held a well, raised tomato beds, and a hard stone floor. Laundry lines crisscrossed the square.

  “Brother Jacob, thou art infected with an evil spirit,” the Prophet continued. “The name of this evil spirit is Doubt.”

  Jacob straightened. Was this Jacob's reputation? Or was it the spirit of discernment?

  “This doubt is sent by the adversary. It is one of Satan's weapons. With doubt he poisons the soul, leads men to trust their own intellect, to abandon the Lord. I hereby rebuke this spirit, command thee to place thy trust in the Lord and His servants.”

  Oh, was that all? Just rebuke it and it's gone? If it were that easy, he'd have done so long ago. Like when he was sixteen and had fasted for three days, prayed for eighteen hours straight and the Lord had told him. . .nothing.

  Some people had warm feelings, dreams, even angels or dead ancestors appearing to them. Jacob had never felt so much as a twinge in his gut he couldn't attribute to a spicy bowl of chili.

  So what the hell was he doing, getting blessed by yet another self-proclaimed prophet? Was this time going to be different? Or did he need to prove that each and every one was a fraud?

  “The End Days are upon us, Brother Jacob. The Lord has chosen thee as His warrior, to gird thyself with the armor of righteousness, arm thyself with the sword of truth. Thou shalt smite the unbeliever, cast down thy enemy, yea, even unto the depths of Hell. And then shalt thou rise to stand at His side and receive thy kingdoms and thy glory. As thou art faithful, so shalt thou see the return of the Lord to cleanse and redeem the Earth.

  “These blessings and promises we, thy brethren pronounce upon thy head in the name of the Savior, even the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.”

  “Amen,” the other two men repeated.

  “Amen,” Jacob said.

  The men helped him to his feet and shook his hand one by one. Their eyes were shining with purpose in the early morning light that crept into the courtyard. After he finished shaking, Brother Timothy gestured at the wooden chair and urged him to sit back down.

  A woman brought a bowl of steaming water and a dipper, which she set at his feet.

  “Thank you, dear.” Brother Timothy put his hand against the woman's cheek. Jacob made eye contact and felt a shock of recognition.

  Agent Haley Kite. Her soft features, dark, almost Mediterranean eyes, were unmistakable from the photos Agents Krantz and Fayer had shown him. He tried not to stare as she returned to the covered stone arcade.

  She was alive, thank goodness. And married to the Prophet.

  Oh, she's good.

  Krantz and Fayer had nailed that one. She'd burrowed so deep into the church Timothy had taken her for his wife. But why hadn't she made contact?

  Brother Timothy bent to his knees. He lifted Jacob's foot with one hand and took a dipper of water in the other.

  Jacob's feet were numb from the cold stones, and he flinched at the hot water. But after the third dipperful and the way Brother Timothy methodically rubbed the dirt and stress from first one foot, then the other, he found the foot washing soothing. When Timothy finished, the other two men�
��the disciples, the prophet had called them—repeated the gesture.

  The last to do so, a middle-aged man named Brother Clarence, looked up when he finished and said. “Thou art clean of the blood and sins of this generation.”

  Jacob said, “What now?”

  “Work, of course,” Brother Timothy said. His tone was relaxed now, less formal. “After breakfast I'll take you to the north fields. There's something in the irrigation works that's bugging me.”

  “Why me? I'm not a hydrologist.”

  “I know, but you're an educated man with a scientific background. I could use a fresh pair of eyes. After that, some stuff right up your alley.”

  “Medical problems?”

  He nodded. “Always. A bone that didn't set properly, a few with age complaints, some pregnant women. We have a midwife, but you're our first doctor.”

  “Good. I mean, I hope there's nothing serious, but it's something for me to do.”

  “That's just the start. Before the coming of the Lord, we will find uses for all your talents, Brother Jacob.”

  #

  Jacob met his fellow cult members at breakfast. Okay, his fellow saints. His attitude softened once the others arrived at the largest interior courtyard for their communal meal.

  It was hard to see them as the brainwashed masses when you looked at them as individuals. There were women, children, men, elderly and young together. It was the sort of mixed group you found in Zion, not the rigidly separated, atomized lives of the gentile world. Each and every one looked freshly washed, alert and happy to be setting about their daily work. Some greeted him by name.

  “Brother Jacob, so good to see you.”

  “Welcome to Zion, Brother Jacob.”

  In fact, he recognized a few. There was Caralee Kimball, formerly one of Fernie's sister wives, before their husband was sent to prison. And Jacob's own second cousin, whose name escaped him at the moment. Jacob was surprised to see the boy had found his way back into the community. It had been ten years since his father kicked him out for rebellion.

  Jacob scanned the crowd for Agent Kite. How was he going to make contact?

  Could it be Krantz and Fayer were wrong, that she wasn't in trouble at all? She'd simply decided not to check in, to stay deep underground. Whatever she was learning, it had to be good. And ongoing.

  It made his job simple. Make contact, get out. Let the FBI do their job.

  Brother Timothy blessed the food, then tore chunks of bread from fresh-baked loaves and handed them to people as they came for eggs, bacon, hash browns, melon, fresh milk, apple juice.

  He collected his food and sat in one corner of the courtyard, where he could watch everyone. No sign of Agent Kite.

  One man read verses from the Book of Mormon, then people rose to share testimonies while others ate.

  “I am so grateful for the bounty of this year's harvest,” one woman said. “And a righteous husband who is not afraid of honest toil.”

  Another man stood a few minutes later. “I know that Brother Timothy is the true prophet of the Lord, sent to guide and protect us in the last days.”

  Jacob glanced at Brother Timothy, surrounded by children, eating bread with butter. The man seemed to feel his gaze, and returned the look. Jacob looked back to his food.

  A moment later, Brother Timothy joined him in the corner. “It's warmer in the sun, you know.”

  “A couple of hours and I'll wish I had this shade back.”

  “Isn't that true? You've got to love Central Utah. Freezing one minute, roasting the next.”

  “It's all that dry air,” Jacob said. “Why does the Lord always lead His people to the desert? Was there something wrong with Oregon?”

  Brother Timothy laughed. “Maybe it's nothing more than finding a place so desolate no one else wants it.”

  “Or maybe the desert is meant to toughen us up, keep us from getting fat and lazy and prosperous.”

  “Nicely put, brother.”

  An elderly woman rose. “Brothers and sisters.” The chatter hushed as people strained to hear her thin voice, watered with age. “There were times when I despaired this day would ever come. For years I waited and watched. My husband passed to the other side of the veil, my sister wives too. I thought I'd join them without seeing the glorious day, but now it has come. I'm thankful every day to the Lord.” She smiled. “Just as long as He keeps this old heart ticking a little bit longer.” A few chuckles at this.

  Brother Timothy was watching Jacob watch the woman. “Why are you so skeptical?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Sister Grace Ellen. That woman is as close to the Lord as anyone I've met. She's lived a hard life, always waiting, always faithful.”

  “She seems like a wonderful person,” Jacob said.

  “But you don't buy it.”

  “You can't just give me a blessing and make me a believer,” Jacob said.

  “I can if you're humble enough.”

  “Did you know Brigham Young studied the Book of Mormon for two years before he joined the church?” Jacob asked. “He said he needed to be sure that Joseph Smith was truly called of the Lord. I'll bet he talked to the prophet many times, prayed dozens of times to know if it was true. Probably received blessings just like the one you gave me. Do you think he would have been swayed by Sister Grace Ellen's testimony, or would he have kept waiting, studying, praying?”

  “Fair enough, but we don't have two years.”

  “You think the Millennium is that close?”

  “Closer than you think. The time has come to believe, Brother Jacob. To know the truth and stamp it on your heart.”

  “The scriptures say that to some it is given to know,” Jacob countered, “and others to believe on their word. I'm not a knower.”

  “Not yet, but you will be.”

  Jacob turned back to watch the crowd. Brother Timothy kept studying him as he studied them. Jacob couldn't help but be moved by the sight of many eager people, convinced they were following the actual will of the Lord, but he also felt himself pulling back. Cool, not hot. Detached, not joined.

  “Brother Jacob, I can see it on your face,” the prophet said. “You're deliberately hardening your heart.”

  “What are you hoping I'll do? Beyond fixing bones and delivering babies? Do you want another follower? Is it because my father is the head of the Church of the Anointing? If I join, 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 p
rideful? 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.”