In the Spring

IN THE SPRING By Weston N. Nordgran Cal Ridges strode through the shaded avenues of pines, as the sun sank to rest. The cool evening breezes of early Spring murmured and sighed through the aspens and pines, to lose themselves at last in a tangled maze of sage and rabbit brush, in the valley far below. The snow had melted, and the ground, newly dried emitted entrancing odors, as Cal continued on his way to the cabin. As he reached the wicket gate, he paused, and turning on his heel, he faced toward the little village he had left. A tender smile, wistful, pathetic, and yet glowing, hovered on his face, lighting up his handsome features. For a moment he let it linger there, as if he wanted to get acquainted with the feelings which caused it. Then a pained look chased the smile away, and turning, he strode into the cabin. As he entered the room, his father rose to greet him. "In ithe Spring," he quoted, "a young man's fancy, lightly turns — ." "Why, what's the matter, Cal?" his father questioned, "Wouldn't she have you?" "Oh yes, she'll have me," returned Cal gloomily, "on condition. She says that we will have to be married in the Temple, or she will not marry me. She says it is a "Mormon" principle, and that she will stick to it. And Dad," he continued, "I don't want a Temple marriage. I want her to have a really brilliant church wedding, with flowers, and bridesmaids, and — well, everything, and not to go to the bother of getting a church recommend, and all of that!" And he went off in raptures of fancy as he described the wedding, in glowing terms, that he had planned for his beloved. The older man listened without seemingly paying any attention, and when Cal finally bethought himself of the supper on the table, he noticed a far-away look in his father's eyes. Three days later, Cal returned to the cabin to find his father critically ill with pneumonia, and although he summoned a doctor and a nurse, and saw that everything possible was done, Bruce Ridges passed on to the world beyond. After the funeral, as Cal was sorting his father's personal effects, he came upon a letter addressed to himself. He tore open the envelope, and read: "Dear son Cal: 1 am soon to join your mother in another world, and I would like to tell you a few things. I was stubborn in my youth, as you are. I loved your mother — and I do yet, God bless her — but when she wanted a Temple wedding, I held out against it. It nearly broke her heart, but she loved me more than her religion, else she thought to convert me, and she married me outside of the Temple. When you were eight years of age, you were baptized. I

IN THE SPRING 553 let your mother have her way in that, as I had been baptized myself, and even stood fairly high in the Priesthood — and because it pleased her. I can see that I have been a slacker — I let myself slide, and didn't try to learn about religion — I was wrong. Since I became sick about a month ago, I have begun to think, and act. I had a talk with the bishop, and since then, I have gone to the Temple of the Lord, and have had your mother sealed to me for eternity! Marie is right, and as I know my written word will have more weight with you after I am gone, I pen these few lines of advice. Before you marry, investigate, and find put for yourself which marriages are the happier, and which last the longer, those contracted with the sanction of the Lord, in his holy House, or those performed outside of it. Service and sacrifice bring forth the choicest blessings of God. Re- member your tithing, and ^remember that God is your Father. Call upon him in times of need. And I say to you, make yourself useful to mankind, by doing more in a church capacity. New people are needed and appreciated, in the Lord's vineyard. If you will talk to Bishop Healey, he will find a place for you. You will perhaps have hard times, but don't give up. I will await you, with your mother, in the eternal world. I should like to have you married in the Temple, if you can arrange it. Marie is right. Your loving father, Bruce Ridges." Cal was shocked — stunned — by that letter. He felt old and beaten. The longest sermon Bruce Ridges had ever preached was contained in that letter to his son. Cal went to the bishop the next Sunday after meeting, and after showing him the letter, asked for help and advice. Bishop Healey was very interested, and at once took Cal "under his wing." He gave the young man much to think about and to ponder over. Cal was given a ward teacher's division, with the bishop as his companion. Thus, by degrees, Cal came to know the real significance of the holy Priesthood, the meaning of salvation for the living and the dead, and the gospel in its true light. He gloried in his work, and learned to enjoy the meetings which he had heretofore considered dull and dry. He saw a good deal of Marie Kelsey during the summer months,, and she rejoiced with him in the work of the Lord. At last, in the latter part of November, Cal was given the office of President of the Y. M. M. I. A. of the ward. ***** It was again Spring. Happy birds twittered on the twigs and branches of the sturdy pines. Baby leaf buds were bursting forth upon the trees, and shy grass blades appeared as if by magic. The winter-fallowed ground was soft and mellow, with a spring-like scent to it. Streams dashed and foamed down the mountainside as if glad to escape winter's hardy bonds. The moon, in its course, rose pale, full, and serene, like a silvery light.

554 , IMPROVEMENT ERA A year had passed; a busy year it had been for Cal, with his manifold duties of farmer and preacher. He had cleared a tract of land and now had eighty acres> redeemed from the forest and sage. Other acres he had, too — after homesteading them for years, with his lather. A small flock of sheep testified to that, for he had been of a thrifty nature, and had picked up lost bits of wool and bones, later to pasture them on his sage land, and turn them into good repre- sentatives of their breed. Cal had again been to the village — and beyond. And as he re- turned to the cabin through the dusk, he was not alone. There was one who made his heart beat high with hope, whenever she brushed by his side. Hand in hand they moved, as they ascended the well worn path to the wicket gate. There they paused and he took her in his arms. Some time later they isat on the porch steps and surveyed by moonlight the farm at the foot of the darkened path, the new net wire fence, the stacks, the corrals and the newly budding orchard. A horse sent a whinneying blast out over the night, and somewhere from the depths of mountain sage, a coyote howled his disappointment at the moon. Cal laughed for pure joy, and squeezed Marie tighter as she snuggled up to him. They looked long into each others' eyes, as if to search for any doubt; finding none, their lips met and a peaceful calm pervaded their hearts. Their souls seemed as one, and they loved with the fervency of youth. A belated bird shrilled at some prowler and emitted an annoyed squawk. A bat thumped headlong into the cabin wall, above the door. Thus arroused from their reverie, Cal and Marie went indoors. Home at last! It seemed to them that they had been wandering all of their lives, and had just now discovered the way home! "Ah!" sighed Cal, blissfully, as he switched on the light, "We are home at last! And we shall have everything together from now on — yes, everything! And say, Marie, wasn't that marriage of ours a grand one? I'm surely glad to know that we had it performed in the house of the Lord." "Yes, Cal," responded his dear little wife, "it surely was wonderful, and I'm, oh — so happy that we had a Temple marriage! Just think, Cal, we are each others for life, and for all eternity! We'll be together always! — forever!" "Amen, to that!" said Cal, cheerily.