The Lincoln Myth (Cotton Malone 9)

SALT LAKE CITY

ROWAN LISTENED AS SNOW SPOKE, WAITING TO LEARN THE significance of the wooden box.

“Brigham Young challenged several American presidents, asserting our religious and political independence. He ignored Congress and all laws he disagreed with, and thumbed his nose at local military commanders. Finally, in 1857, James Buchanan had had enough and took the extraordinary measure of sending troops to subdue us.” Snow paused. “Plural marriage was a mistake both Smith and Young made.”

Prophets from the Old Testament, like Abraham, had routinely taken many wives. Solomon himself had 700, along with 300 concubines. In 1831 Joseph Smith prayed to the Lord about such practices and was answered with a revelation that plural marriage was indeed part of the true covenant, though the church did not publicly acknowledge the practice until 1852.

Only about 2 percent of members ever participated, and all had to be spiritually selected by the prophet. Most times it was older women incapable of taking care of themselves brought into the nonsexual roles of a plural marriage, and always with the consent of the first wife. But child propagation also lay at its roots, since God had commanded that all raise up a seed unto him.

He knew that plural marriage enraged and offended American society. The 1862 Morrill Act allowed the canceling of citizenship for anyone who practiced it. Then the 1887 Edmunds-Tucker Act criminalized it.

“Smith and Young misjudged the effect of plural marriage on both Saints and gentiles,” Snow said. “But instead of wisely walking away from something that had clearly become counterproductive, they continued the practice and demanded political autonomy.”

Which Rowan admired.

Saints had migrated to Salt Lake to find a refuge. They’d occupied barren land no one had wanted and forged a society where church and state seamlessly meshed together. A provisional government was established in 1849 and statehood applied for. They called it Deseret, a word from the Book of Mormon that referred to a beehive, a symbol of industry and cooperation. Its boundaries would have included present-day Utah and Nevada, most of California, a third of Arizona, and parts of Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Oregon. Statehood was denied. Congress did, though, accept the new land as a territory, shrinking its boundaries and renaming it Utah. Young was appointed its first governor, and did a masterful job keeping the meld of church and state intact.

“On the one hand,” Snow said, “we wanted to be part of the greater society. Contribute to the national welfare. Be good citizens. On the other, we demanded the right to do as we please.”

“It was a matter of religious belief. A matter of freedom. Plural marriage was part of our religion.”

“Come now, Thaddeus. If our religion compelled the murdering of other human beings, would we have the freedom to enjoy that? That argument is weak and indefensible. Plural marriage, in a physical sense, was wrong. We should have recognized that long before 1890, when we finally did the smart thing and abolished it forever.”

He did not agree.

“Brigham Young made many wise decisions,” Snow said. “He was an effective administrator, a true visionary. We owe him a great deal. But he also made mistakes. Ones he failed to openly acknowledge during his life, but mistakes nonetheless.”

He decided against any further argument or rebuttal. He needed information and conflict was not the way to encourage its flow.

“We should discuss the White Horse Prophecy,” Snow said.

Had he heard right? He stared at the prophet.

“I’m aware of your explorations in the restricted archives. I know the substance of what Brother Salazar has researched within our closed records. You both have been busy studying that prophecy.”

He decided not to be coy. “I want to find our great secret, Charles. We need to find it.”

“That secret has been missing a long time.”

But the sight of those wagons had provided him hope.

“I made the decision after your call yesterday,” Snow said. “Something told me it was the right location.” The older man paused, winded, and grabbed his breath.

“The Prophet Brigham hid the great secret away,” he said, “intending for us to find it one day.”

Snow shook his head. “We don’t know that.”

Only he and the prophet could have this conversation, as only they were currently privy to the story. Unfortunately, they each knew different parts. His had been learned from hard work and research, both in Utah and D.C., Snow’s had been handed to him by his predecessor.

And that’s what he needed to know.

“Every prophet since Brigham Young has wrestled with this same dilemma. I was hoping it might pass me by.” Snow pointed to the wooden box. “Go ahead.”

He opened the lid.

Inside lay an assortment of tattered documents, each tucked safely inside a vacuum-sealed plastic bag. Mainly books and old newspapers, badly damaged from rot and mildew.

“That’s what we could salvage from the record stone in 1993,” Snow said. “Unimportant writings from long ago, save for the two packets on top.”

He’d already noticed both. Single sheets lay inside, their outer edges stained, as if burned. But their writing had survived.

“Examine both,” the prophet told him.

He lifted out the first plastic protector.

The script was tight and small, the ink barely readable.

I fear there has been too much mixing of the hairs with the butter for the good of the butter. The workers of wickedness would really like, now that the great Civil War is but a memory, to have attention again drawn to us and troops sent again to break us up. They openly avow their intention to break the power of the priesthood and destroy our sacred organization. I once thought that we could co-exist. That agreements could be honored. But it will not do for us to mix with the world and hope thereby to gain favor and friendship. I so tried to do what seemed correct and decent. During my life I spoke of this to no one. Instead, I leave this message for the faithful who come after me. Know that we carry a burden, one thrust upon us by Lincoln himself, but one we voluntarily accepted. When the great Civil War broke out I saw that fight as the White Horse Prophecy come true. Prophet Joseph predicted all that eventually happened, including our journey into the Rocky Mountains and his own demise. By 1863 the Constitution did in fact hang by a thread and, just as the prophecy stated would happen, Congress passed a law aimed at ruining us. So I sent an emissary to Mr. Lincoln. He received him with kindness and without formality. His stated mission was to inquire about statehood, which Mr. Lincoln avoided. Instead, a message was sent to me. Lincoln said he would leave us be, if I would leave him be. This was precisely what we had waited so many years to hear. All we have ever sought was the freedom to live in our own way. Lincoln knew us from Illinois. He told my emissary that he had read the Book of Mormon, which was encouraging to hear. But it would have been ill advised to make an agreement with any president without some sort of assurance that its terms would be honored. This was told to Lincoln, who offered something of a sufficient magnitude that we would know he intended to keep his word. He, in turn, demanded the same from us, which I provided. We each accepted the other’s offering and both sides honored the agreement. Unfortunately, Mr. Lincoln died before either one of our collaterals could be returned. No one from the government ever asked about what we held of theirs, nor of what they held of ours, which led me to conclude that no one other than myself knew either existed. So I kept silent. In doing so I fulfilled the rest of the prophecy, which said that we would act as the white horse savior of the nation. But Prophet Joseph also told us to stand by the Constitution of the United States, as it was given by the inspiration of God. That has never been done, at least not in my lifetime. What I gave Mr. Lincoln was the secret location of our wealth. Ever since the federal troops came in ’57 Saints have talked of our lost gold. I tell you now that none of that gold was lost. Instead, all was put to good use. I provided a map of its hiding place, where I

also hid what Mr. Lincoln entrusted to us. Two months after our bargain was sealed Lincoln sent me a telegram that said Samuel, the Lamanite, stood guard over our secret in Washington, among the Word, which gave me great comfort. He also said that he keeps the most important part of the secret close to him every day. I told him that providence and nature guard his half of the bargain. He seemed to enjoy the great mystery he and I created. Prophet Joseph was right in all that he foretold. May you be equally correct too.

“Brigham Young wrote this?” Rowan asked.

“It is his script.”

“The lost gold and our great secret are linked?”

Snow nodded. “From the beginning. Solve one and you solve the other.”

“What did the prophet mean by the reference to Samuel and the telegram?”

“That’s where Lincoln was quite clever. In mid-1863, to ensure the lines still operated, the president sent a telegram to Brigham Young. He told the prophet that what he’d read about Samuel in our good book rings true, so what better sentinel than a Lamanite.”

Cryptic, for sure. But all new information. “This telegram still exists?”

“Sealed away, for the eyes of a prophet only. Its wording is actually quite meaningless unless you’ve read what you’re holding. But now you and I both know the truth. Tell me, Thaddeus, how do you know of this secret? This was supposedly only for prophets.”

The time for pretense was over. “As Prophet Brigham said, there were two sides to that bargain. Ours and Lincoln’s. References to America’s involvement with Brigham Young still exist in the national archives.”

“I have known for some time that you were searching. Your accomplice, Senor Salazar, has made a nuisance of himself.”

“You have a problem with Josepe?”

“He’s a fanatic, and they are always dangerous, no matter how sincere they profess to be. He follows blindly the teachings of Joseph Smith, ignoring the continuing revelations prophets have received through the years.”

“That sounds like blasphemy.”

“Because I question what I know to be wrong? How could that be anything other than smart and practical?”

“Strange talk from our prophet.”

“But that’s the point, Thaddeus. I am the prophet. So my words carry the same significance as the ones spoken by those who came before me.”

He motioned with Young’s message. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I, too, now want to know the great secret. The White Horse Prophecy was always thought by us to be false, written years after the fact, incorporating what its drafters already knew to be reality, making Prophet Joseph sound more accurate than he deserved.”