John Brent, Backslider

John Brent, Backslider By Albert R. Lyman "Bishop, you're altogether too persistent," growled John Brent, with a rising emotion of stubborn anger. "You talk as if my plan were in transgression of the Lord's commandments; can you tell me of any revelation forbidding a man to take his family out on his farm?" The bishop made no haste to answer, and Sister Brent and the five children sat in troubled admiration of the eloquent re- sentment of their husband and father. "I like to have the priesthood give timely suggestions," pro- ceeded the man of the house indignantly, "but I am still an agent to myself and I still retain a little understanding of man's in- herent privileges." The visitors, Bishop Hanson and his counselor, looked their distress, but the Bishop spoke calmly as before, "You make me to say what I have not said. I do say that since your cow-ranch is fifty miles away, and no chance of you or your family enjoying the organizations of the Church at any time during the year, if you make that your home, it seems to me that in moving there, you are taking a step backward." The young Brents watched their father's face, but it was rigid as a stone wall. "It is not as if you were in need of more means," pleaded the bishop, aware of the unyielding nature before him, yet join- ing in the prayer of the children and their mother for something so dear to them; "with the wealth the Lord has given you, you could easily remain here, give valuable help in the ward, and have your promising family grow up to lives of usefulness. I know you could make more money living at the ranch, but you don't need any more, you're not called to make more, and I am afraid, Brother Brent, that what you make by living there, will be at the sacrifice of your family's welfare." Still the man of the house sat there unmoved, though he knew his family were praying for the bishop's success. "The ward needs you and the good assistance you are quali- fied to give, and you need the ward. We have been praying all these years that you would turn and help build up Zion." "Well, I want to tell you right now, Bishop Hanson," and the cow-man showed dogged resolution in every tone and move-

JOHN BRENT, BACKSLIDER 235 ment, "I am supposed to preside in my family and I'm on the job. You're simply prolonging the misery, and sowing seeds of discontent and rebellion in the hearts of my children. I think I love them as much as you dare to and I prefer that you let this matter drop." Brent's good-night greetings lacked much in warmth, but he hoped his perfunctory thanks and good wishes as the brethren stepped out into the night, would soften the disappointment of his family. "Do you still intend to go, Papa?" ventured fifteen-year- old Myrtle, timidly. "I can't afford to do anything else," he affirmed, with a frown, and reaching at the same time for his hat, to make the care of the team a pretext for easy escape. His wife was waiting alone when he returned, and she made fearful mention of the matter, hoping he had changed his mind. "Molly," he broke forth, with imperial overbearing, "it seems to me I've explained the necessity of this move times enough, and we're going to be packed up and leave here Wednesday morning. We're going to drive right up past the bishop's home with our whole outfit. I suppose I have failings enough, but I will not be operated like a machine. It is I, not the bishop, shouldering the responsibility of this family, and much as you all blame me, I don't know what you'd do if I should surrender." Molly knew she would gain nothing saying more. Expe- rience had taught her that some of the keenest feelings of her heart must be expressed in tears and in solitude to the great Father who hears the cries of all his suffering children. Darkness and quiet reigned in the Brent home, and every one was supposed to be asleep. But the man of the house did not sleep ; deep from his troubled consciousness, the bishop's words returned, again and again. At length when the night was far advanced, that bishop began to repeat even more than he had said, "You filled a mission fifteen years ago, and re- turned bearing a wonderful testimony that the gospel is true, and that the coming of the Savior is near. You have done nothing for that testimony from that day to this. Because the Lord blessed you abundantly with means, you showed your gratitude by paying only a few stingy cents in tithing, and later no tithing at all. And then you showed your splen- did appreciation of the Lord's goodness by refusing to serve in any capacity for the building up of Zion. And now," pro- ceeded the Bishop with more boldness than ever before, "as if you had not reached the climax of scrubby ingratitude, you are

236 IMPROVEMENT ERA resolved for the sake of more riches still, to drag your innocent family down into the groveling pit with you." John Brent heard it all, and his answers paled to nothing- ness before the positive bar of conscience, over which Bishop Hanson seemed to be handing out the law with supreme au- thority. "Never was miser more avaricious, nor jackass more stub- born. Never was traitor blessed with more superfine audacity, nor nor " The voice of reprimand died away in a drowsy stupor as the clock on the shelf struck two. ******* *** The move of the Brents to their cattle ranch had long been a matter of the past. Brent himself figured as president and controling stockholder in three banks, the chief director in five livestock companies, in half a dozen ranches and five stores. Myrtle, his daughter, had married a trifling fellow, once one of her father's employees, but now escaping the poverty and want he so richly deserved, by frequent and regu- lar assistance from his father-in-law. John Junior was a cigaretist, nothing more, nothing less, a sorrow and a disappointment to his father, an eyesore to the name, a menace to society. He scattered cash with prodigal hand, though never an honest dollar did he earn, and when his allowance was curtailed for his own welfare, he drew on his father's accounts by dishonest means, and stung the old man's soul like a serpent's tooth. And the three younger girls, too, bad to relate: little Jane had run away with a sporty cattle buyer from Kansas; Mary had married contrary to her parent's wishes, and in her rage at their protest had sent no address when she went to new quarters. Baby Maggie, the idol of the family, had returned in shame from the lure of the stage to live and die in the seclusion of her father's mansion at the ranch. Molly, the wife and mother, had weakened and died under the sting and shame brought home by her once promising children; and Brent had grown to hate his money, and hate himself as the Judas of his household. The memory of the innocents he brought to the ranch and to ruin, haunted him day and night: Myrtle, with her lean-brained companion, Johnny, a sorry burlesque on what he should have been, Jane and Mary in their unknown homes far away, Maggie like a blight- ed flower, and their mother dead of grief, — it became more bitter and terrible to bear as the years went by. Memory in its relentless vengeance, reminded him that he had driven right up past the bishop's home, as he swore

JOHN BRENT, BACKSLIDER 237 he would do, and Molly had been under the necessity of sitting up on the spring-seat in subdued obedience to him. His money hung like a millstone about his neck, too heavy to carry, too precious to throw away. He had to be present at director's meetings, he had to worry over bad notes, law- suits, obligations, mortgages, proposed sales and proposed pur- chases, and the imps of his riches buzzed in his ears with an infernal constancy. Into all this torture like a bolt from clear skies, came an ominous cry of terror from all creation. A strange and awful something had been sighted in the distant skies, — the papers gave flaming accounts of it almost to the exclusion of every- thing else, — men wandered absently from their work to talk of the strange thing, speculating as to when it would be visible to all. But it became apparent soon enough to the naked eye, rising from the eastern horizon in the early evening. Great crowds watched in wonder and fear till it disappeared the fol- lowing morning, noting with alarm the speed of its approach, for it shone brighter at its setting than at its rising. That day, merchants were too much disturbed to attend their business; clerks, cashiers, farmers, stockmen, and labor- ers in all walks of life, had no heart for anything but to talk in bated breath of the strange thing. They watched in dread for the haze on the horizon, and gazed at it in speechless awe till it sank from view the next day. Brent took his frail, faded Maggie; his spineless namesake, John; and Myrtle with her two children, back to the home ward where Bishop Hanson, now stooped and gray, presided still as the father of the people. Without a protest Brent would now have given a hundred thousand dollars to have Jane and Mary with him, or even to know where they were. Meet- ing the venerable bishop on the street, John lost control of his feelings, "Oh Bishop! Bishop!" he moaned, and the old patriarch clasped his hands, and looked pityingly through tears, but could offer no word of consolation. Trains stopped running for want of a crew; telegraph opera- tors left their posts; cattle and other animals wandered un- cared-for in the streets, or wherever they could find forage, and men had no heart to eat, no composure to sleep. They waited in terrible suspense for that appearance in the evening 6ky, to be startled again at its nearness to the earth. And, Oh, how changed that awe-stricken multitude, — no class distinction, no boasting, no haughtiness or false pride or unkind word; the very heart had been melted in man. On the fourth night of this universal vigil, in which all ages and

238 IMPROVEMENT ERA classes joined alike, a voice of mourning arose in a distant place, and every soul weakened to the emotion of tears, weeping aloud. Men fell in one another's arms and wept; old enemies forgave with full and frank acknowledgments; parents clasped their children to their hearts, and children clung to their par- ents and to one another with trembling of distress. A retrospect of Brent's fifty-odd years rose up in terrible panorama before him, and he sickened at heart as he viewed it. He considered his three unfortunate children suffering the blight he had brought upon them; he thought of his two darlings estranged from him in their unknown dwellings, and of his broken-hearted Molly as he last saw her face, pinched and pallid on its little white pillow. He could not refrain, and he saw no reason why he should refrain ; no one refrained. "Oh, curse the ranch and the cattle, and the whole infernal pot, for which I was swindled," and hearing a crash, for the earth seemed to be reeling, he turned in time to see a falling brick wall cover two men who had sought its shade: "I'd give it all to be one of them," he sobbed, in the abandon of despair. But the walls did not fall on him, and the strange thing with its increasing glory, sank from view again, leaving people to discover that the sun had risen. Bishop Hanson and his brethren with their wives and children watched, too, by day and night, but they enjoyed some mysterious security, singing and praying in deep solemnity. When the glory appeared again, it shed a keen and searching heat, and the earth trembled and faltered in its course like a drunken man. Men fell to the earth, pale and gasping for breath. Before its setting, its temperature became intense, and the sun looked cold and red when it had gone. One more appearance, and that flaming body would cook the earth and everything moving on its surface. A sickness of terror prostrated people in the streets or wherever they sank to watch. When that light developed in the east again, men sat transfixed and speechless with gaping mouth, and limbs palsied in dismay. The sun would have hidden in shame. No longer a growing ball of fire, the wonder arose from the horizon as a city with banners and pinacles of glory; its mighty people moved in majesty through its broad streets and lofty gate- ways. In their midst stood one great and terrible, clothed in red robes, his face clear to all the hosts of men on earth, for distance counted nothing before his gaze. His voice was heard in searching might, and before it the very mountains humbled themselves, and all nature trembled with reverence.

JOHN BRENT, BACKSLIDER 239 John Brent had fallen near a cemetery, and he felt him- self withering as a straw withers in a flame. Then lo, before his gasping, fainting self, he saw the graves open and the dead come forth with wondrous words of praise, to rise in majesty and be borne away. One lingering hope flickered in John's despair, and he called for Bishop Hanson: possibly even yet the priesthood could minster to his comfort, or plead his cause before the throne of God. "We've hunted him in vain," someone an- swered, "he's gone, and all who sang and prayed with him are not to be found." Then Brent heard the voice of the Mighty One again, and what had not been clear before, became clear as the sound of a trumpet to his dying ears, "Inasmuch as you have been ashamed of Me, I am ashamed to own you before the Father!" The sting of death with its infinite despair, settled with the blackness of damnation over John Brent. • • • • *••**• "Oh, John, what is it?" and the sound of distressed alarm in Molly's voice aroused John Brent from a deep and troubled sleep. "You have a hot fever," she said, as he opened his eyes to gaze blankly at her, through tears. "Why do you sob so, Dear?" she asked, encircling his head with her loving arm, "shall I send for the bishop?" "Where am I?" he gasped; "what does all this mean? Can you really find the bishop?" "You're at home, John," she answered assuringly, "and I am sure we can find the bishop, for he was here, you remem- ber, only last night, and is no doubt still in town." "Do send for him," Brent pleaded, clutching his wife's hand convulsively, as if afraid it would slip from him. Bishop Hanson came, not old and gray, but in the splendid vigor of his Danish prime, the honest lineaments of faith and integrity in his handsome face. "What is it, Brother Brent?" he said, extending his sinewy hands, for he could see that a change had come about. "Oh, Bishop!" said Brent, clasping the two brotherly palms, and leaning forward over the bed with a choking sob, "My heart has been touched. I was really, as you said, stub- born as a jackass, but I repent, please forgive me." "I do freely forgive you, Brother," and the bishop's words rang with genuine kindness, though he showed surprise as if doubting the mental poise of this erstwhile careless member of his ward; "but I can see you are not well; calm yourself, and if I can give any service, I am here to give it."

240 IMPROVEMENT ERA "I am perfectly well," affirmed John Brent, getting him- self under better control. "I see I am misunderstood, and really I am just beginning to comprehend what has happened. Please sit on this chair, and hear me." By the middle of the afternoon, Bishop Hanson knew what it all meant. "I know I can depend on you hereafter," he said as he arose to go. "Ask of me anything or everything," said the new John Brent, with soulful eyes, and his faithful service since that day has proved that he meant it, every word. Standing, Utah Religion Class Song (Tune: "Put your shoulder to the wheel.") Our hearts are full of praise and joy, We'll work with all our might, To build a glorious House of God On this grand Temple site. Chorus: Our ranks are in the work, pushing on; Always working, never shirking, is our song. Religion Class, Religion Class, See our banner leading on. Salvation for the millions, dead, Our Father's children all; We hear their cry, their "hearts are turned," Let ours return the call. We praise the Lord for Prophets dear To dedicate this sod, Who seal the living to the dead. Hosannah to our God ! The above song was sung in honor of President Heber J. Grant's birthday anniversary, November 22, 1921, it being an offering by the Religion Classes of the Maricopa stake, Arizona. The song was also sung at the dedication of the Mesa, Arizona, temple site, on Monday, November 28, 1921, following the stake conference of the two preceding days. Stake superintendent N. A. Jensen, writes the Improvement Era that the children of the Religion Classes raised a beautiful banner as their song was being rendered, making a very pleasing effect. — Editors.