--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Steele, Frank C. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 28 number: 5 published: 1925-03 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Frank C. Steele, “The Conversion of Gerald Erskine,” *Improvement Era 28, no. 5 (March 1925)*: 417–429." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2805unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2805unse start_page: 417 end_page: 429 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1925-03) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2805unse publication_year: 1925 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1925, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Conversion of Gerald Erskine THE CONVERSION OF GERALD ERSKINE By Frank C. Steele Marguerite Lawrence looked into the full-length mirror of her room and smiled- — faintly. She was a dream of young womanhood. Her expressive face revealed an inward glow of health, warm and magnetic. The silken folds of a dressing gown clung to her figure in graceful lines, loose sleeves caressing her pretty, immaculate hands. On the finger of one of those pretty hands sparkled a diamond solitaire, its firey darts shooting hither and thither in the light like so many shafts from Cupid's bow. Marguerite Lawrence had promised to marry Gerald Erskine — reluctantly. She was fond of Gerald. That she knew. She was rea- sonably sure she loved him. But love is such a dangerous, elusive thing. Many times Marguerite had been thrilled. She had allowed her- self to drift luxuriously into a number of harmless little affairs, expos- ing herself with nice restraint to love. But somehow she had never found that great Something — before. She experienced the usual dis- appointments, and alone she had held her little funerals, wept into her faintly scented kerchief, buried her emotions, and waited again for the true Angel of Love to roll away the stone. Gerald had done that — masterfully. He found Marguerite a lovely but somewhat lonely pilgrim in a great eastern college. It was indeed a case of love "at first sight" when Gerald met Marguerite and danced with her at a fraternity New Year's party. She did not lack for dance partners. On the contrary, she was surrounded. But Gerald, one of that American type of young manhood known as "go- getters," elbowed his way — figuratively — through the circle of sleek- groomed "frat" men, took supreme command of the situation and with delightful earnestness soon had the pretty girl from the West booked for several fox trots and a few waltzes and one steps added for good measure. And that is how their affair got started. It came to a climax a year later in their engagement with tenta- tive plans accompanying for a quiet wedding in the Little Church Around the Corner in New York. Gerald, in fact, had set his heart on the famous chapel in the center of the world's metropolis. It seemed so true to his life, to fit into the career of a man of action, this sweet retreat just off the Great White Way. Their marriage was set for September. As already explained, Marguerite had accepted Gerald — reluct- antly. Even now as she tood before her mirror the venture she was committed to was being weighed, analyzed and dissected. The beau- 418 IMPROVEMENT ERA tiful face registered decision one moment, indecision the next. Evi- dently, the conflict was a strenuous one, the stakes high. They were. It was not a question of love. Marguerite did not doubt Ger- ald's sincerity. She was convinced this ardent, young college man with his determined "way" adored her. He had come into her life like the prince in the story book and she had found his offering of love genuine. Yes, she knew Gerald loved her. It was not a question of social station. Gerald came of a highly- respected and substantial Indianapolis family, and like many of the sons of the Hoosier State his college career had been outstanding, a sparkling literary style and intelligent "nose for news" carrying him rapidly to the editorial chair of The Gateway, the university weekly. National journals quoted him. Societies and clubs lionized him. Girls laid traps for him, the ingenuity of many of the traps being born in the minds of hopeful mothers. And on his graudation a place was waiting for him on the staff of one of the great New York dailies. No, it was not position. Perhaps Gerald had a trifle too much "posi- tion." Neither was it disposition. Gerald was the gayest, frankest, kind- est personality Marguerite had ever encountered. Of that she was convinced. He was ever an inspiration to her. The question was — Religion. And that had worried Mar- guerite. Gerald was not religious in the generally understood meaning of the term. His parents were Methodist. Gerald was — well, he wasn't a Methodist. He was a Modernist, a critic of the dismembered Christianity of Jesus, the Great Teacher, for whom he had the very highest devotion. He rejected creeds; he spurned ritual. He was one of that enlarging group of modern men, religious to a degree, but repelled by the churches. They seemed so insincere, so lacking in authority, so cold. In a word, so rooted to the Past that they failed to keep pace with an advancing world. The Little Church Around the Corner and its kindly ministration to all and sundry alone called forth the admiration of this college man. Marguerite was a "Mormon" from Utah. "Don't do it, Margie, don't marry this young man, splendid though his character and chances in life may be," her uncle wrote from his home in Salt Lake City. He was her closest relative, for her mother had died when Marguerite was only a baby while her father had fallen a prey to influenza while attempting to keep his mines in Nevada operating during the dread pestilence. "Don't do it, my child. These mixed marriages rarely terminate happily. The road is strewn with their wreckage. It may be all right — sometimes the husband joins the Church. But that good for- tune comes to only a very few of our 'Mormon' girls who marry out- side the Church. You are, of course, at liberty to make your choice. THE CONVERSION OF GERALD ERSKINE 419 I would not desire to mar your happiness, my dear, but I feel it would be unwise to marry Gerald unless you are very, very sure it is the right course." Marguerite was very, very sure. She had not made her decision hastily. She had counted and recounted the costs. She had sought light from her Heavenly Father and she felt sure she had received her answer. And so Love again scored. She could not forget Gerald's words, tender words they were, assuring her it was her sweet self, her ideals, her aspirations that moved him, that aroused and held his love. Religion did not figure in the question at all, for both parties to the compact surely were entitled to be intellectually and spiritually free and untrammeled. Intolerance had no place in the modern world, he urged. "Marguerite dear, why should religion thwart a love like ours — that love which comes in the lives of men and women but once? That love, dear, we feel when evening falls and darkness suggests that last long eventide when hungry hearts yearn for that companionship of the soul which only true love can give. No. Marguerite, it would be cruel to resist the divine call of love, for, dearest, I may not under- stand God as you understand him, but I do have faith in that Supreme Father who has watch over his children. Somehow, Marguerite, I cannot argue away that conviction." No, she could not forget those splendid words. "O, I just know Gerald will join the Church, and when he does he'll be a Latter-day Saint. Men of Gerald's type are not satisfied to be just 'Mormons.' " So the college girl, who had come to a great decision, reasoned as she tripped about her room before retiring, and as she tripped she hummed the strains of a popular light opera number. It was such a relief to have decided, decided, decidedly definitely, finally. How important are our decisions! Gerald and Marguerite were married in September. They were not married in the Little Church Around the Corner. Gerald wanted it that way, but Marguerite's opposition was so sustained that he gave in to her wishes. The president of the Eastern States Mission married them at the Brooklyn headquarters. "It really doesn't make any dif- ference, dear," Gerald had said, "and if it pleases you, Little Sincerity, it pleases me. A 'Mormon' wedding it shall be. You know I'm not fussy about ministers." And for that surrender, Marguerite kissed him and was happy. Their honeymoon was spent in the Quebec woods. The isola- tion appealed to the newly-weds after a year in the whirl of a great university. Their hotel, with its logs and gables and blazing fire- places, was a picture, sitting on the west shore of a lake fully three miles long and a mile wide. It was really a cup of the mountain, whose slopes were covered with deep-toned woods. To the girl it brought 420 IMPROVEMENT ERA back memories of childhood, years spent in her mountain home in the west. "This is charming, Gerald dear, you could not have selected a lovelier spot," Marguerite cried, as they stood on the veranda over- looking the lake, the evening of their arrival at the resort. The moon, now in its full, shone down on the dark woods. As it rose higher and higher, silvering the mountain peaks, the lake caught the picture and reflected it. The scent of the forest came to the lovers from mysterious, far-away stretches, while the quiet of the world was unbroken except for the lapping of the waves on the pebbly shore. "It is too grand for word pictures, sweetheart, with you in the setting," Gerald murmured. He slipped his arm around the slender waist and together they revelled in the witchery of nature in one of her most entrancing moods. All too quickly the month of romance in the Quebec woods ended, and with the coming of October and its snappier morning air, the Erskines returned to New York eager for the fresh adventures that would come with the new life that awaited them there. They were fortunate in securing "a perfect darling" of an apart- ment, as Marguerite described it. The rooms were not large but they were beautifully furnished needing only the deft fingers of the little lady of the house to transform the flat into — home. A fern here, a pillow there, a lamp with an old rose shade in another corner, and the whole interior breathed coziness and refinement. Marguerite loved her home. Gerald was eager to test his untried powers in real work in a real world. And thus the winter fairly melted away. They were both devotees of the theatre and the opera and as Gerald was attached to the music and dramatic department of the Globe they were among the regular "first nighters" at the great play- houses along Broadway. It was a gay world in which the newly-weds were suddenly dropped. Time was lost in the whirl of activity and before they were aware winter merged into spring, spring with its soft air and returning birds and carefree park crowds. Gerald and Marguerite often joined the thousands in the parks, the evenings being now warm and the spring voices alluring. They would always remain to enjoy the twilight for it seemed to bring with it a sweet something that united them just a little tighter. They lingered, too, to watch the night fall over the great city, to feel the thrill of the hour when those canyons of steel and stone became fairy palaces festooned with millions of twink- ling lights. Life was sweet to them and indulgent. It was sweet but not full. There was one brooding cloud in the sky of Marguerite's happiness. Gerald had changed in one particular, only one, but that one was an exceedingly important particular. He refused to accompany THE CONVERSION OF GERALD ERSKINE 421 Marguerite to church. This aloofness did not appear abruptly. It was a growth but a rapid one. And it hurt the young wife. It was a disappointment, a startling thing, but it did not break down her confidence of victory. It seemed only to steel her for the battle she knew confronted her. Marguerite attended service — alone. It was hard to do. Her courage was put to the test, but she did it in her own sweet way, returning each Sunday to find Gerald reading or writing or arriving home from golfing. With Autumn came a tiny stranger to the Erskine home. Gerald Junior was born. The joy of the father was only exceeded by the infinite joy of the mother holding the little bundle of pink legs, chubby arms and blue eyes close, so very close, to her heart. Gifts poured in on Junior from everywhere. They came from the neighbors along Courtland Street, for the Erskines lived alone now, having vacated their flat when the stork promised them an early call. Gifts came from the delighted uncle in far-away Salt Lake City, while the grandparents in India were unstinted in expressing their delight. From the Globe office came packages big and small, for the coming of Junior proved no ordinary event in the Globe editorial rooms. When Christmas neared, a new joy gave of its sweetness to the Erskine home. Junior had his first Christmas tree. A wide variety of rattles, queer-looking dolls, a wardrobe of warm baby wearables, and other gifts peeped out from among the labyrinth of tinsel and tassle and lighted candles, and while Junior failed to realize what it all meant, his mother and daddy did, and they were happy. Spring broke early the next year, but not too early for the trio in the Erskine home. Gerald had bought a chummy little coupe and for a month he and Marguerite had been studying tourist Red Books of the New England States with their trails leading into Canada, that Land of Enchantment, for had it not given them a month of freedom, of quiet, of happiness when freedom and quiet and happiness meant so much to them? It was Sunday morning. A warm sun shone through the win- dows of the Erskine home on Courtland Street, falling directly on Marguerite who was absorbed in dressing Junior for the day. She sang as her nimble fingers smoothed and adjusted the airy bits of baby apparel. Junior dressed^ Marguerite called to her husband reclining in an easy chair in the living room reading the Sunday paper as was his custom. He came with a bound, seizing the tot in his two strong arms and kissing the soft cheeks again and again. 'What a little beauty we have, mother dear! He never looked 422 IMPROVEMENT ERA quite so fine — never! But where are you going so early, dear?" Ger- ald said as he surveyed Junior dressed in his going-out togs. "Why, Gerald, don't you know? It is such a pleasant day I thought we ought to take advantage of it by taking Junior to church to have him blessed. It should have been done months ago, dear. "Blessed — blessed. Why, what do you mean, Marguerite?" "Gerald, I've explained it all to you a dozen times, I know. Some churches call it christening, we call it blessing children. They are given blessings and names by the elders, who take them in their arms as did our Savior, Gerald." There was a pause. It was an awkward pause. Gerald frowned. "You are not going to have Junior blessed, as you call it." "Gerald!" There was surprise in that voice. "I mean it, you're not going to go any further with this." "Gerald, dear, you can't mean it — you wouldn't — why — Ger- ald— please don't joke." "It is no joke. I mean it all. Frankly, Marguerite I'm tired of all this 'Mormon' nonsense. It is undermining our home life, and — and — well, I'm in line for the dramatic editor's post, and this religion business doesn't mix very well, especially 'Mormonism.' " Marguerite was now clutching at a chair. Her face was pallid. Her hand shook. A wistful pain softened her eyes as she gazed ques- tionably at her husband. "Gerald, I never dreamed this would happen. It is all so ut- terly unthinkable. You surely cannot mean this thing, Gerald. You are not yourself, Gerald. This is not the man I married. This is not the man who made those tender pledges in our happy college days, Gerald. This is not Gerald Erskine, the Princeton man — " "Please don't sidestep." "Sidestep, Gerald, sidestep! That was mean. I repeat, you are not the man I married. You are not the man who 18 months ago moved thousands to cheer with his eloquence. How splendid you were that night, Gerald! How I loved you!" "I don't get your drift at all. I want to get down to facts. I want this thing settled — definitely!" "Don't get angry, Gerald. You amaze me, astound me, almost insult me. But that night eighteen months ago. How it all comes back this morning! I think your theme was something about 'Sincer- ity, the Great World Need.' It was a noble speech, Gerald, I can hear your words now ringing through the great auditorium. Your words today sound a bit hollow, don't you think?" Marguerite was herself again — calm, poised, self-reliant. Gerald betrayed the conflict within. His face was no longer flushed. THE CONVERSION OF GERALD ERSKINE 423 "You asked me, Gerald, to abandon my ideals. If I did this thing I would abandon my better self. You forget that I am from Princeton, too. And I will add that no Princeton girl — and no 'Mor- mon' girl — is willing to do the thing you propose. No. Gerald, my mind is made up." "I see you are determined, Marguerite. Very well, there is an- other way, you know — " "Gerald!" Gerald did not reply, but Junior did. The third member of the Erskine family had been twisting and writhing in his father's arms during the sudden domestic upheaval of which he was the innocent cause. He could endure it no longer, and with the accumulated gusto of his baby lungs he launched his pro- test. Junior was on the rampage. He first cried — decently. Then he howled. Then he screamed! The father played with him, fussed with him. But in vain. Junior had been grossly neglected and abused and he wanted the world to know it. And then it happened. The scales of destiny tipped. "For goodness sake, Marguerite, take this child," the despair- ing father cried, as he handed the tiny disturber to its mother. As he relieved himself of the sniffling mite, he smiled. The smile proved contagion. Marguerite smiled. Then Junior smiled. Then Gerald and Marguerite laughed. "Dearest!" Gerald pleaded as he led his wife and babe to an easy chair in the living room. "I was mad. I guess you are right, dear, there is a Devil and he had me this morning — had me right. It is all too horrible! You whipped me, Marguerite — you and Junior. But I deserved far more than I got. I fear you can never forgive me, dear — " "Yes, I'll forgive you, Gerry, if — " "I'll do anything if only you will blot out this terrible memory, Marguerite — this morning." "Well, Gerald dear, will you come with me to Church to see Junior blessed?" "I will!" And he did. And seven years later he saw Junior baptized by a proud father. "I investigated 'Mormonism' through my wife's sincerity," Ger- ald always explained when asked about his conversion. "No, dear, it was through Junior's temper," Marguerite would correct. Perhaps they were both right. Lethbridge, Aha, Canada Top: Hanks and Sid at the approach of the cave Center: "We rode through a screen of aspens, and sat gasping our astonishment." Bottom: "In silence we clambered up through the loose rocks through the hole that leads to utter darkness." TALES OF THE TRAILS 2. The Twin Cave By Joe Hickman The discovery and exploiting of a natural wonder is like the finding and developing of a mineral vein. If other veins are known to exist in the region, the discovery of an additional one only adds value to those already known to exist. So it is with scenic wonders. The mention of features in Southern Utah heretofore little known does not detract from those already widely advertised, but rather adds to their value. The more one digs deeply into the wonderful region in our state, the more convinced he becomes that greater things yet remain undiscovered. When President Walter E. Hanks, of the Wayne stake, told me about a monster cave that has been for ages within a few hundred yards of a trail that I have often traveled. I could only doubt his esti- mates of its size. At last we agreed upon a date to visit the cavern and while it was yet dark our horses were plunging through the deep, Janu- ary snow, on a trail that we could not see, but of which we felt sure. Hanks, a man in his sixties, son of the famous pioneer guide, E. K. Hanks, is worthy of his parentage. He knows every trail and cow- path in Wayne county, and especially well the routes over the Boulder Mountain on which he acted as Forest Ranger for ten years. So we never doubted a minute the existence of the trail that could not be seen, but which led for eight miles from Grover, over the Miners' Moun- tain, down Sulphur Wash, and up Pleasant Creek on the Boulder to the cave. We reached the region of the red sandstone and drew rein under a huge cliff that extended slowly over us its several hundred feet, so that its base was possibly fifty feet from a perpendicular line dropped from its summit. "What do you think of it?" Hanks asked, turning in his saddle. Sid said something unprintable. I dismounted and began digging in the loose sand at the base of the overhanging rock. There were bits of arrow heads, broken pottery, and other signs of this having been used for an Indian burial ground. Just without the pro- tection of the ledge, lay the half eaten carcass of a deer. In the snow could be seen the trail over which it had been dragged. The prints of a mountain lion's track, possibly four inches in diameter, told the tale. Altogether I could not say that I was sorry that I had risen at three that morning, in order to meet the party at Grover and take the ride. But I could not hide my disappointment at the cave I had been told we were to see. Sid was not so silent and after he had run out of words with 426 IMPROVEMENT ERA which to express his feelings in the matter, Hanks, laughed and said, "Well boys, let's go on to the cave." "So this isn't the cave?" inquired Sid. In another ten minutes we rode through the screen of aspens, drew rein within the huge cavity, and sat gasping our astonishment and awe. Over us the monstrous red sandstone roof canopied, one hun- dred feet from the earth to its ceiling, three hundred feet from end to end and two hundred feet from face to the narrow hole that seemed to lead into utter darkness in the rear. Even our horses seemed to know that here was something fit for marvel and pricking their ears here and there, neighed time and again. Then in silence we clambered up the loose rocks and through the hole already mentioned. If we had been amazed in the outer room, this inner cavity could only hold us spellbound. The light reflected from the front and gradually growing dimmer toward the two extreme corners of this second cave intensified and multiplied the many colors that nature had left there in the making of its walls and roof. First one is suddenly shocked by the size of this second room. He expects that it will be but the size of the hole he can see from the entrance to the outer chamber, that is about fifty by twenty feet. But having passed thromgh this arch he finds himself within another large cavity which by measurement proves to be fifty feet high, one hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. But the size no longer excites wonder. The real shock is received by the unexpected geological formation of this rainbow room, — so named because of the variety of colors found on its walls and roof. The red chamber is formed entirely in the red sandstone so pre- dominant in Southern Utah regions. This rainbow room is formed in a conglomerate that marks the unconforming spot of the mouth of "Just without lay the half-eaten carcass of a deer, lately killed by a mountain lion." TALES OF THE TRAILS 42 7 some prehistoric stream. It is a spot for the scientist as much as it is for the artist. But it is the artistic that will appeal to most of us as betrayed by the variety of the greens, pinks, silvers, deep reds, and soft creams so naturally thrown about the walls and roof of this great bell-shaped cavity. The Twin Cave of Wayne county is not a rival to the other great caverns of the world. It is distinctive. It is something differ- ent. It does not outshine Timpanogos, rather like the discovery of a mine in a mining region it should add to Utah's already great wealth. It is quite accessible, being possible to reach within three miles of it by automobile over a route that leads by Fish Lake, Fruita Natural Bridge, and Capitol Gorge. The Sea The air was still — A prescient hush prevailed That filled my soul with deep intensity Of awe, and vast expectancy. Like that which trembled in the breast of him Who sightless was from birth; When at the pool, his eyes renewed, He saw the glory of the earth. The bleak plain, bare and drear, Didst wait as if from primal dawn To hear The voice of that which moved upon the waters dark; Or, mayhaps, mighty rushing wings to hark, And then upon my listening ear There fell A rhythmic melody, As if I inadvertently had found The temple high of God, And entered it all unaware, So subtle and profound Were those deep undertones sublime, As if the unseen choir of all eternity didst chant A Te Deum most divine. Then, lifting up mine eyes, I saw the sea Before me stretched in vast immensity! 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