“You were invited,” Rochelle said. “And we were glad to have you.”
“And you are invited,” said Jonas heartily. “And we’ll be glad to have you. We’re even glad to have the hecklers.”
“What hecklers?” Mark said.
“Oh, they yell about how we’re apostates and we’re not Christians and blah blah. We get it. Oppression is nothing new for members of our church, you know. We’ve had it constantly, literally since the church was founded.”
Rochelle, again, gave Lewyn a look of the most exquisite disgust. She might not know this particular history of religious persecution, but she knew how to compare an elephant to a gnat. “I see,” she said. “Yes, nearly two centuries of oppression.”
“Take a chance, Rochelle!” said Jonas. “Give it a try. Besides, Lewyn wants to come.”
She turned her sharp little face up to him.
“And Mark can drive you out with him. Right, Mark?”
“Happy to,” said Mark. “Happy for the company.”
Lewyn could imagine how much less compelling Mark’s company would render the prospect for Rochelle, but Jonas was right: he sort of did want to go. He wanted to see Palmyra, and the hill where Joseph Smith dug up the golden plates, and maybe that Sacred Grove where angels had supposedly appeared. It would be up to him to persuade Rochelle, and he didn’t want to go to a religious pageant without her. He didn’t want to go anywhere without her.
It wasn’t straightforward at all. Back in their room that night, Rochelle subjected him to a vigorous interrogation.
Why did he want to go? Golden plates? Talking angels? Jesus astral-visiting America for three days while his physical body lay in an Israeli tomb? And the politics of these people! What about that?
They were interrupted then by a sad girl from Lake Forest whose roommate was apparently spreading malicious untruths about her all up and down the corridor. And she had never been anything but nice! Also, the roommate was too lazy to go to the bathroom and insisted on putting her used maxi pads in the wastebasket! And was there no empty room on this massive campus where she could spend the remaining five and a half weeks away from this evil and repulsive person, whom she furthermore suspected of stealing her pink Reeboks?
When Rochelle returned, he took the opportunity to observe that pink Reeboks should be stolen as a matter of principle, but she was not in the mood. On the other hand, she was too depleted to continue arguing against their trip.
They left four days later in Mark’s Toyota, driving north along Cayuga’s western edge and then west on the Thruway.
“Remind me why we’re going this early?” said Rochelle. “I thought it doesn’t start till the sun goes down.”
“Well, there’s a Sacred Grove somewhere,” said Lewyn.
“A what?” Rochelle turned in the front seat to look back at him.
“Where Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus.”
“Well, look at you,” said Rochelle, not kindly.
The little road to the Smith Farm was crowded with SUVs and RVs, most of them bearing license plates from points far west. Not surprisingly, when they reached it, the parking lot was jammed. Inside the visitor center, the three of them were ushered into a room where a sturdy missionary with an Australian accent related the story that was likely already known to everyone in the room: the Smith family had come to Palmyra after earlier struggles in Vermont, and when young Joseph prayed about which church congregation was truest to God’s word, an angel led him from his bedroom to the woods, and there God himself, and Jesus, had delivered the answer—none of them.
“And so, before you exit to the farm, and before you enter the Sacred Grove, I want to testify that like Joseph I once struggled to understand what God wanted from me, and so I did pray with an open heart and real intent, and my Heavenly Father spoke to me, just as I was promised. I know that the Gospel is true and I am loved by my Heavenly Father. I welcome you all to this glorious and holy place. Now, does anyone with a mobility issue need the golf cart?”