Chapter 8

"She is not a bad girl--no, no; but she has been led away into a false religion, and as she will talk and argue with us all, I thought it best that she stay away from our home until she comes to her senses; but--"

"What is this religion that has caused her to err so badly?"

"Why, she calls herself a Latter-day Saint."

"What!"

"Yes; I've tried to reason with the girl, but it's been no use."

"I want to see her--now, today," said Henrik. "Give me her address."

"Shall I go with you?"

"No, I can find her,--you need not bother."

Henrik obtained the proper directions, and set out immediately. Was there then one other of his family that had received the gospel--one that could help him? He boarded a car, getting off at the store. Going to the department in which she worked, he asked the floor-walker where he could find Miss Bogstad. Then he saw her behind a counter, resting for a moment, unoccupied. Though she was an American, Henrik could see the Norwegian traits in his fair cousin. She was of the dark type, with round, rosy lips and cheeks, and heavy, brown hair.

"I am your cousin Henrik from Norway," he said as he shook her hand.

Her smile burst into a soft, merry laugh as she greeted him. "I am glad to see you," she said. "I heard you were here, but thought perhaps I might not get to meet you."

He held her hand a long time, as he looked into the pretty, sweet face. Had he been an American, he would, no doubt, have kissed her then and there; but being a Norwegian, he only looked his wonder and pleasure.

They could not talk much because customers had to be served; but Henrik lingered until closing time, saying he would walk home with her that they might talk. She expressed her pleasure at the proposition; and promptly at the closing gong, she donned her wraps and joined him. The day was warm, and he suggested a walk around by the park, where they might sit down on a bench under the trees.

It was a difficult matter for seriously minded Uncle Jens and his family to laugh, and even a smile was seldom seen on their faces; but here was one who seemed bubbling over with merriment--one whose countenance shone as if from an inner light of happiness.

"Rachel," said Henrik, "your father has told me about you."

"Yes," she replied with sobering face, "they think I am a very bad girl,--but--"

"Look here cousin, don't make any apologies. I know, and understand."

He asked her some questions about herself, all of which she answered frankly. Then he told her about himself, which she first met with an astonished stare. He narrated his experiences in Norway, of his trip westward, and the real purpose of his coming to Minnesota. She heard his story with alternating smiles and tears, as it touched her heart. They sat thus for a long time, oblivious to the singing birds above, of the curious passers-by, or the fast falling night. They walked home in the lighted streets, and it was late when he bade her goodnight at the gate.

The next day Henrik had a talk with Uncle Jens which ended in the uncle's closing with a bang the open Bible on the table out of which they had been reading, and then in uncontrolled rage ordering his nephew out of the house. Henrik tried to make peace with his uncle, but it proved useless, so he took his hat and left.

Henrik met Rachel again that evening, and again they sat on the bench under the trees. Once again they became lost to all outward disturbances in the deep concerns which brooded in their hearts and found utterance in their speech.

"I shall remain here a few days more," said he in conclusion, "because I want to get better acquainted with you; and then we must talk over our plans further. Then I shall go back to Norway. In a few months I shall come back, and we two shall go westward where the Temples are, and there begin the work that is ours--the work that the Lord has called us to do. What do you say to that?"

"Thank you," she replied simply, and with her usual smile; "I shall be ready."

XIV.

"Rend your heart and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness."--_Joel 2:13._

On Henrik's arrival in Norway, the harvesting was in full swing, and he busied himself with that. His friends, some of whom were surprised at his return, asked him what he had found in America, and he told them freely. Had he discovered the delusion in his American religion? No, he replied, his faith had been made stronger. Selma had relented somewhat, she making him welcome at her home in Christiania. Here he also met Marie. Henrik treated her as a friend with whom he had never had differences. When she saw him back again, browned and hardy, but the same gentle Henrik, Marie wondered, and by that wonder her resentment was modified, and she listened to his accounts of America and his relatives in Minnesota with much interest. As he spoke with an added enthusiasm of his cousin Rachel, the listeners opened their ears and eyes. He told them freely of his plans, and what he and Rachel were going to do.

"Yes," he said, "I can see the hand of the Lord in my finding Rachel."--Marie had her doubts, but she said nothing.--"It is all so wonderful to me, and I am only sorry that you folks can't see it!" But they replied nothing.

Henrik wrote often to Rachel, and the letters which he received in reply he usually handed to Selma, and Marie, if she was present. They pronounced them fine letters. "She must be a jolly girl," they said.

"She is," he affirmed; "the most religious and yet the merriest girl I have ever met. That seems a contradiction, but it isn't." Then he went on explaining, and they could not help listening. Henrik studied the two young women to see what impression he might be making. On Selma there was very little, but he believed Marie was overcoming some of her prejudice. Selma told him that Marie loved him as much as ever, and that if he deserted her, it would break her heart.

"But Selma," he exclaimed, "I have never deserted her. It was she who broke the engagement."

"How could she do otherwise;--but she has been waiting, and will still wait in hope."

"I, too, shall do that," he said.

* * * * *

That fall Henrik again sailed for America. Going westward by way of Minnesota, he called for Rachel and took her with him. In one of the Temple cities they found lodgings with some of his friends, and then they entered upon their work for their ancestors. Henrik had a long list of them, and so they were kept busy nearly all the winter. At the end of three months, Henrik asked Rachel if she was tired and wanted a rest.

"Oh, no," she said; "I believe I can do this work all my life. It isn't always easy, but there is so much joy and peace in it. I believe the angels are with us, and I don't want better company."

And so these two were very much contented. They sent letters home telling of the "glorious" time they were having, and the work they were doing. At the opening of spring, Henrik left Rachel to continue the work, he having to go back to Norway. He asked her if she desired to return to her folks in Minnesota, but she said no, not yet.

The early spring months found Henrik in Christiania. He made a trip to Denmark on genealogical research which proved quite successful. The first of June found him back to Nordal.

Midsummer Night came clear and cool. Henrik was in Christiania, and was to be one of a party to spend the night on the hills above the city. Marie was not with them, and Henrik enquired the reason.

"She is ill," said Selma.

"Ill? Where is she?"

"At home. I think you should go and see her."

"Does she want me?"

"Yes."

Henrik excused himself from the party and went immediately to Marie. He found her on the veranda, reclining on a couch. The lamp-light from an open window fell on a pale face, startling in its changed expression. He silently took her hand, her fingers tightening in his grasp. She looked him steadily in the face, her swimming eyes not wavering. Then Henrik knew that he loved this girl yet. For a long time he had tried to forget her, tried to root out his love for her, tried to think that she was not for him. "I'll not try again," he had thought, "for twice now have I been disappointed;" but now a flood of compassionate love engulfed him, and he, too, clung to the fingers in his grasp.

"I am sorry to see you like this," he said, "what is the matter?"

"I don't know."

"Doesn't the doctor know?"

She shook her head with a faint smile. "Sit down, Henrik, I want to talk to you," she said.

He took the low chair by her side. The mother looked at them from the door-way, but did not come out.

"I want you to forgive me," she said.

"That has been done long ago."

"Thank you--now listen. I have been wrong, wickedly wrong, it seems to me--listen! I have not been honest, neither with you, nor myself, nor with the Lord--which is the worst of all. I understood much that you taught me of the restored gospel--It seemed so easy to my understanding; but my pride was in the way, and I would not accept the light. I pushed it away. I kept saying to myself, 'It isn't true,' when I knew all the time that it was. That's the sin I have committed."

"My dear--"

"You remember that book you asked me to read? Well, I read it through, though I led you to believe that I did not. It is a beautiful book, and true, every word. * * * Perhaps you will not believe me when I tell you that I have been a number of times to your meetings in Osterhausgade. Once when you were there--I thought you would see me," she smiled. "And I could find no faults, though at first I went looking for them * * * Now, I've told you. You have forgiven me, you say; but will the Lord?"

"Yes; the Lord is good."

"When I get better--if I do--I am going to join the Church as you have done. That is the right thing to do, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And then, may I go to where you and your cousin Rachel are working for the dead? When--when are you to be married?"

"Married? To whom?"

"Why, to your cousin Rachel. Are you not going to marry her?"

"Certainly not--never thought of it for a moment."

"Oh, dear, I must have made another mistake. Forgive me." She lay back on her cushions.

"Marie, when I get married, it's you I want for my wife. I have told you that before, and I haven't changed my mind. You shall be mine, if you will come back to the sweet days of long ago. Will you?"

He leaned over the couch, and she drew his face to hers. "Yes," she whispered.

At the end of an hour's conversation wherein much had been said, Marie asked: "May I go with you to the temple and there help you in the work you are doing? I believe I could help a little."

It was at that moment that the curtain lifted from the eyes of the mortal, and Henrik saw for an instant into the pre-existent world. A group of spiritual beings was eagerly engaged in conversation, and from out that group he heard the voice of one answering Marie's question.

"Yes; I think so; but we shall see."

XV.

"A friend of mine in his journey is come to me."--_Luke 11:6._

The next time Henrik went to the valleys of the mountains in western America, Marie accompanied him. They were married in the Temple, made man and wife for time and eternity by the authority of the Priesthood. That event was among their supremely happy ones. Rachel witnessed the ceremony, and the smile on her face was sweeter than ever.

After that, Marie helped in the temple work as she had desired. The three then labored together until Henrik's list of names was nearly exhausted. After a very pleasant visit among friends, Henrik and Marie went back to Norway and to Nordal. They made a new home from the ancient one on the hillside by the forest, and for them the years went by in peace and plenty. Sons and daughters came to them, to whom they taught the gospel. In time many of his kin also believed the truth and accepted it, and thus the seed that was sown in humility, and at first brought but small returns, gave promise of a bounteous harvest.

Once every four or five years, Henrik and Marie visited the Saints in the West, and spent some time in the temple. These were happy times for Rachel, who continued to live alone, not making many intimate acquaintances. Henrik was glad to provide for her simple necessities, so that she could continue her life's work in behalf of the dead.

Rachel did not marry. Once in Minnesota, a young man had made love to her, but she could not return that love, so she was in duty bound not to encourage him. Rachel was hard to get acquainted with, a number of young men had said. She was always happy and smiling, and yet a closer knowledge of her character disclosed a serious strain that puzzled her admirers--for Rachel had admirers. A number of times good men had been about to make love to her in earnest, but each time some strange feeling had checked them. The young woman was "willing" enough but what could she do? There was without doubt a "man" for her, but she could not go in search of him. As the years went by, and with them her youth and somewhat of her beauty, she was often sad, and sometimes heart-hungry; and at such times she found no peace until she had poured out her heart to her heavenly Father, and said, "Thy will be done--but make me satisfied."

After an absence of three years Rachel visited her home in Minnesota. She was received kindly, the parents being no doubt grateful that she had escaped alive from the clutches of those "terrible people" whom she had been among. She could still smile and be happy, be more patient than ever, taking in good part the ridicule and sometimes the abuse directed toward her. She talked on the gospel with those who would listen, and after a time she found that she was making a little headway. Her father, at the first, told her emphatically that she was not to "preach her religion" in his house; but he would sometimes forget himself and ask her a question, which in being answered would lead to a gospel discourse. Then, awakening to what was going on, he would say, "That will do. I thought I told you that we wanted none of your preaching," at which Rachel would smilingly look around to the others who were also smiling at the father's inconsistencies.

During this visit the good seed was planted, from which in due time the Lord gave an abundant harvest from among the Bogstad family and its many ramifications.

One day in the temple Rachel met Signe Dahl Ames. It was Rachel's custom to keep a lookout for sisters who were new to the work that she might assist them. Signe had not been in the Temple since the day she was married, and now she had come to do some work for her family. Rachel met her in the outer room with a pleasant greeting.

"I am Sister Bogstad," she said; "and what is your name?"

"Bogstad, did you say--why--why, my name is Ames."

"Yes, Bogstad," replied Rachel, noticing the sister's surprise. "We haven't met before, have we?"

"No; I think not. The name is not common, and I used to know a gentleman by that name--that's all."

"You're a Norwegian," said Rachel.

"Yes."

"So am I; though I was born in this country, it may be possible that I belong to the family which you know."

"I used to know Henrik Bogstad of Nordal, Norway."

"That's my cousin. We have been doing work here in the temple."

Signe was greatly surprised, and Rachel led her to a corner where they talked freely for some time. During the day they found occasion to continue their conversation, and that evening Signe went home with her new-found friend.

This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Rachel knew enough of Henrik's little romance with Signe to make the acquaintanceship unusually interesting; besides, there came to be a strong affinity between the two. Rachel accompanied her friend to Dry Bench, and there soon became "Aunt Rachel" to Signe's four beautiful children. Then she wrote to Henrik, telling him of her wonderful "find." He replied that at their next visit to America, they would surely give Dry Bench a call.

Henrik, Marie, and two of the older children came that fall when the peaches were ripe and the alfalfa fields were being cut. And such delicious peaches, and such stacks of fragrant hay they found! Amid the beautiful setting of the harvest time, their several stories were told, in wonder at the diverging and the meeting of the great streams of Life. The Bogstad children practiced their book-learned English, while the Ames children were willing teachers. The boys bathed in the irrigation canal, rode on the loads of hay, and gorged themselves with peaches. The girls played house under the trees. And were it part of this story, it might be here told how that, later, Arnt Bogstad and Margaret Ames loved and mated--but it is not.

Henrik and Marie lived happily together for twelve years, and then Marie was called into the spirit world. Henrik was left with five children, the youngest but a few months old. With ample means, he could obtain plenty of household help, but money could not buy a mother for his children. A number of years went by, bringing to Henrik new and varied experiences. Then on one of his visits to the West he found another helpmate for himself and children--a kind-hearted, sweet-souled young woman, born of Danish parents, and reared among the Saints in the valleys of the mountains. Then the westward call became so strong that Henrik disposed of most of his interests in Norway and moved with his family to America, taking up his abode in a town not far from Dry Bench. Here they enjoyed the association of the Saints, and his children had the advantage of companionship of children of the faith.

Time, and the world with it, sped on. Peace and prosperity came to the people of this story. As years were added to years, their good works increased, until the Lord said to each of them, Enough. Then in their own time and place, they passed into the Paradise of God.

PART THIRD

Ye worlds of light and life, beyond our sphere; Mysterious country! Let your light appear. Ye angels, lift the veil, the truth unfold, And give our seers a glimpse of that bright world; Tell where ye live, and what is your employ, Your present blessing, and your future joy. Say, have you learned the name, and tuned the lyre, And hymn'd the praise of Him--the great Messiah? Have love's emotions kindled in your breast, And hope, enraptured, seized the promised rest? Or wait ye still the resurrection day, That higher promise of Millenial sway? When Saints and angels come to earth again, And in the flesh with King Messiah reign? The spirits answered as they soared away-- "We're happy now, but wait a greater day, When sin and death, and hell, shall conquered be, And earth, with heaven enjoy the victory."

--_Parley P. Pratt._

I.

"They shall be gathered together as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in prison, and after many days shall they be visited."--_Isaiah 24:22._

The Lord God created all things "spiritually before they were naturally upon the earth." He created "every plant of the field before it was in the earth, every herb of the field before it grew." Before this "natural" creation "there was not yet flesh upon the earth, neither in the water, neither in the air;... but spiritually were they created and made according" to the word of God. In this second or "natural" creation all things were clothed upon by earthly element, or in other words, the spiritual was materialized so that it became discernible to the natural senses. The spiritual and the natural are, therefore, but different states of the same forms of life. In the natural world there are men, women, beasts of the field, fowls of the air, and vegetation in boundless and varied forms. These exist before the natural is added upon them; they exist after the natural is laid down by the death of the body.

In like manner we find in the spirit world men, women, beasts of the field, fowls of the air, and vegetation in boundless and varied forms. These things are as natural there as they are in earth-life. They appeal to spirit nature the same as the "natural" prototype appeals to the mortal senses; and this is why we may speak of our earth-known friends who are in the spirit world and of their surroundings in the manner of mortality.

And what a big world it is! Here are nations, tribes, races, and families much larger than in earth-life, and just as varied in all that made them different in mortality. Here, as in all of God's creations, like assemble, dislike keep apart; "for intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence; wisdom receiveth wisdom; truth embraceth truth; virtue loveth virtue; light cleaveth unto light; mercy hath compassion on mercy, and claimeth her own." The righteous in Paradise have no desire to mingle with the wicked in the regions of darkness; therefore they go there only as they may be called to perform some duty.

To the industrious there can be no true pleasure or rest in idleness; therefore, Paradise furnishes employment to all its inhabitants. A world of knowledge is open to them into which they may extend their researches. Thus they may continue in the ever-widening field of learning, finding enough to occupy their time and talents.

An arrival in the spirit world brings with him just what he is when he leaves mortality. The separation of the spiritual part of the soul from the earthly body does not essentially change that spirit. A person takes with him the sum total of the character he has formed up to that time. Mortal death does not make a person better or worse; it simply adds to him one more experience which, no doubt, has a teachable influence on him. At death, no person is perfect, even though he is a Saint, and passes into the Paradise of God. There he must continue the process of eliminating the weaknesses which he did not wholly overcome in earth-life. Death will not destroy the tendency to tell untruths, or change the ungovernable temper to one which is under perfect control. Such transformations are not of instant attainment, but are the result of long, patient endeavor.

As there are gradations of righteousness and intelligences in the spirit world, there must be a vast field of usefulness for preaching the gospel, training the ignorant, and helping the weak. As in the world of mortality, this work is carried on by those who have accepted the gospel and who have conformed their lives to its principles; so in the spirit world, the righteous find pleasant and profitable employment in working for the salvation of souls.

And as they work they must needs talk of the glories of the great plan of salvation, made perfect through the atonement of the Lord Jesus. That which they look forward to most keenly, that about which they talk and sing most fervently is the time when they also shall follow their Savior through the door of the resurrection which He has opened for them,--when their souls shall be perfectly redeemed, and they shall be clothed upon with a body of the heavenly order, a tabernacle incorruptible and immortal with which to go on into the celestial world.

Though the future is most glorious to these people, the past is also bright. The hopes of the future are well grounded on the facts of the past. An ever-present theme is that of Christ's first visit to the spirit world, when, having died on the cross, He brought life and light and immortality to the world of spirits, entering even into the prison house where the disobedient had lain for a long time, and preached the gospel to them.

And among these who gloried both in the past and in the future were Rupert and Henrik. Often they conversed on themes near to their hearts: