Shortly after breakfast the following morning, which she had forced herself to eat despite an unsettled stomach, Ever left the house under the pretense of making an early start at the infirmary. She presented herself at the door to Bishop Royce's private office in the new wing of the Council building. The Bishop opened the door himself only moments after she knocked. His eyes widened when he saw her.
"Sister Oaks," he said, showing her in and offering her a seat in front of the large, heavy table that seemed to serve as both desk and meeting table. "What can I do for you this morning? I should say that I'm expecting at least a few appointments this morning, given the Council's announcements yesterday, so you'll forgive me if I have to cut this short at some point."
Bishop Royce was a polite, stocky man with thinning brown hair and a trustworthy face. He'd been a popular Bishop for all of his tenure, and Ever liked him. She cleared her throat nervously.
"If I take your meaning correctly, Bishop," she said, "I believe I am one of those appointments."
"What do you mean, sister?" he asked. The look of confusion on his face made Ever want to giggle. She stifled the feeling quickly. The last thing she needed was the Bishop thinking that she made this request lightly.
"I want to join the second expedition north," said Ever.
To his credit, Bishop Royce appeared to take her request entirely seriously. Less than ten minutes later Ever walked out of his office with an appointment to meet again later that day with her foster father present. A line of young men had formed outside the Bishop's door, all of them members of the high priesthood—Elders—and all of them buzzing with the same nervous excitement that Ever had seen on Dallin's face just last night.
She had known the Bishop would want to consult with Elder Orton, if he even gave her request real consideration, but it still irked her. She was a grown woman. Why should a man have to speak for her? The customs of Bountiful were set, however, and unmarried women under the age of twenty-five were technically still wards of their fathers. Ever had thought it important that she appear herself, without the benefit of a guardian, to make her plea before Bishop Royce, the same as all of the other candidates. How could he believe she was capable of making the long journey to the Maine, sure to be fraught with dangers and hardships, if she couldn't even stand up on her own and ask for it?
The morning was cool, the first true stirrings of autumn were on the wind that gusted through the pines. With winter less than two months away, it was hardly the best time of year to be leaving on a long journey north, but the timing was unavoidable. Ever was in the middle of making a mental inventory of the clothes she would need when she remembered that the Council hadn't given her permission to go yet. She couldn't tell if her easy certainty was due to her prayers last night or simply to her own stubborn refusal to admit that it could happen without her.
Trying to keep the confident state of mind she felt when she woke up that morning, Ever made her way to her father's workshop and knocked on the door.
* * *
Several hours later, Ever sat before Bishop Royce again, in the same chair she had sat in that morning, with Elder Orton beside her. This time, however, the other two members of the Bishopric were present: Elder Meacham sat to the Bishop's right, Elder Cardon to his left. Jared's father was a comfort, as she knew he would treat her fairly, but Ever could have done without Elder Cardon's critical stare. I suppose I should just be grateful they took me seriously enough to show up.
"I've informed my counselors of your request, Sister Oaks," said Bishop Royce, gesturing at the two men flanking him behind his work table, "and I thank you, Elder Orton, for agreeing to meet with us here this afternoon. These are most...unusual circumstances, and I thought it would be best if we discussed it both officially and...informally."
In other words, thought Ever, you didn't want to create an uproar by bringing this before the High Council, but neither did you want to dismiss my request all on your own—just in case it seemed somehow below board. Ever couldn't let the fact that she found Bishop Royce likable to get in the way of the fact that he had an undeniable skill with politics.
Her father had responded as she expected him to, after he got over his surprise: taking her hands in his own before the hearth in his warm workshop, he had told her how proud he was of her bravery and encouraged her to apply that same sense of duty and courage to her work in Bountiful. It had been a dismissal, if a kind one. Elder Orton was a fair and agreeable man, however, and he had consented to accompany her to meet with the Bishop so that she could at least make her case. He had not promised to give his blessing, however.
The result was that Ever, sitting primly in her chair before Bountiful's leader, felt both incredibly alone and even more determined than ever to prove that she was right. She had not come unprepared. She only hoped that what she was about to share with them would be convincing.
"I hope you know, Sister Oaks," said Elder Cardon, "that the only reason you're sitting here is because of your status as a Saint." The skinny man looked like he had bitten into something sour.
"What Elder Cardon means to say, Ever," said Elder Meacham, glancing sidelong at his colleague, "is that you are special. You've been given a gift by God, and because of that fact we must consider your request, as we consider all the words and actions of the Saints, in the serious light which its source merits."
"Elder Orton," said Bishop Royce, "it's your right to speak first, if you want to. Ever Oaks is your responsibility and your child under the law. What are your thoughts about this matter?"
"I defer to my daughter, Bishop," said Ever's father. "I'm here at her request today. I'll be happy to give you my opinion after she has had the chance to speak her peace."
The Bishop nodded and looked at Ever. Ever took a deep breath and swallowed. This was it. The one chance she had, the only chance to—No. No. Say what you came to say. Don't think about how they'll hear it; concentrate on telling it.
"Two nights ago I had a dream," Ever began, folding her hands in her lap and looking at each of the men in front of her in turn. She described the visions she had seen: the mountain, the strange girl, the torn web, all of it. Elder Meacham paled noticeably when she described seeing Jared in pain. She finished by describing the part of her dream where she had seen her siblings and the other children of Bountiful alone in the forest, and Bountiful itself on fire. She talked until she had gotten out every detail that she could remember.
When she was done all of the men were visibly shaken. Her father had put a hand over his mouth—whether in consternation or nausea, she couldn't tell—when she had talked about Dallin and Airie and the children. She had told him she'd been inspired by dream and by prayer, but she had not told him the details.
"This," said Elder Cardon, his face twisting in restrained anger, "is an outrage. You would use our worst fears for your own—"
"Be quiet, Brigham," said the Bishop. Ever had never heard him speak so curtly before. Massaging his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand, he closed his eyes and seemed to think for a moment. Or is he praying? When he opened them again he had regained his composure.
"I won't insult your intelligence or your character by explaining how serious a situation this is, Ever," said the Bishop. "The visions you've described are...disturbing. Very disturbing. Please forgive me for what I'm about to ask." He looked at her right in the eye, then, his own eyes narrowing in an expression of hawk-like scrutiny.
"Do you, Sister Ever Oaks, in the Presence of God, the Savior, and the Ghost, swear on your soul that what you have told us here is true?"
"How could she know whether it's true?" spat Elder Cardon. The Bishop held up a finger. The air seemed to fall silent and still; despite the heavy feeling she had, Ever couldn't help but feel like laughing—at the way the Bishop controlled Elder Cardon like an unruly child; at the bitter look on Elder Cardon's face; at the simple fact that she was sitting where she was sitting, having the conversation she was having.
"I do, Bishop; Elder Meacham, Elder Cardon—Father," said Ever. "Elder Cardon is right to question, I think—I can only tell you what I saw. Everything I said to you here is true, as best I can remember it—it's what I saw in my dream. But I can't tell you whether it's true in the larger sense. I don't know whether it's a divine vision or...or just a nightmare. But I prayed on it, and I believe that what I saw is the future, or a possible future."
"You see?" said Elder Cardon. "She admits herself that she doesn't know. The girl had a dream, Bishop. Nothing was revealed to her: she had an unpleasant dream. Should we now send an unprepared girl out into the wilderness to endanger the lives of her companions because of a dream?"
"Saints have been known to foretell future events," said Elder Meacham.
"But that is not her Gift," said Elder Cardon. "She's a healer."
"Saintly Gifts have been known to develop and change," said Elder Meacham. "Consider Elder Bastian: his gift only revealed itself last year. How can we know what's possible and what's not?"
"We can't," said the Bishop. "It is certainly not for us to understand the workings of the Godhead. Nor should we presume that we know how God would choose to give the gift of prescience, or how He would choose to communicate at all—not every message comes in the form of a burning bush, my brothers."
"I would not have come to you just because of a troublesome dream," said Ever. "I asked for guidance—I knelt at my bed and asked God to tell me what to do. I prayed for hours. No answer came, not directly, not right then; but when I woke up the next morning, and heard screaming, and knew that we were under attack, I knew that what I saw was no normal dream.
"And when my father told me that the Council was sending men north," finished Ever, "I knew—not guessed, not thought—I knew what I had to do. I have to go on this journey, Bishop. I have to go into the North. I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't."
"You're a woman," said Elder Cardon. Thank you for noticing, thought Ever.
"Yes, I am," she said.
"Even presuming we are to believe what you say, how can we send a woman out...out there, where there are Apostates, and Damned, and..."
"I'm not unfamiliar with woodcraft," said Ever. "You forget, Elder Cardon, that I travel outside of Bountiful regularly to treat the Blessed that choose to live outside our walls."
"And look what happened last time you did that," he said, almost snarling. "You would be a liability to the men who went with you. What if you were captured; what if they were forced to choose between saving you and completing the task we set for them? It isn't a fair thing to ask."
"I can defend myself," said Ever. Her voice was rising. She could feel heat in her cheeks. Her father put his hand on her arm gently.
"My biggest concern," said Elder Meacham, "aside from everything else, is the danger of sending one of our most powerful Saints away from our people. Ever is vital to the health of this community—and her powers are still growing. Look what she did for Sister Flowers. Even if we wanted to, the people would never support it. For this and other reasons."
Elder Cardon continued with his interrogation as if Elder Meacham had not spoken. Ever began to feel overwhelmed.
Bishop Royce, who had remained in silent thought during her back and forth with Elder Cardon, held up both hands, palms out, and stood.
"Clearly there is a great deal of emotion and belief weighing on this issue," he said. "It will certainly require careful consideration. We'll recess for now." Looking at Elder Orton, he began instructing him to keep the matter secret for the time being, and on when to expect a summons from him to return.
Elder Meacham was engaged in whispered conversation with Elder Cardon behind the Bishop; he seemed to be trying to calm the older man down.
Ever stopped paying attention. It wasn't enough. They had listened, better than she had expected them to, but they had not heard. It was strange: she felt certain, now, that she had had a revelation from God, but that certainty hadn't come all at once like she would have expected it. There had been very little magic involved. She hadn't been visited by an angel; God hadn't appeared to her in the woods. She had a dream—which was just a bunch of thoughts and images—and then she prayed, and soon afterward she knew that what she had seen was true. As simple as that.
The anger Elder Cardon had aroused in her began to change into something else. She felt the heat in her cheeks again, but it was both gentler and scarier—a turning anxiety that begged to be let loose. Her palms started to tingle like they did when she healed someone, but aside from that similarity this was quite different. The room before her seemed to grow brighter and slow down, as if every detail was more crystalline and perfect; she could see the dust on Bishop Royce's table, feel the imperfections in the floor beneath her feet, and hear every word the Elders spoke as if it had been spoken directly into her ear.
She found that she could focus this new perception like a lens. Moving it from Elders Cardon and Meacham, she turned to her father and Bishop Royce. The Bishop had sat down, and her father had taken her gently by the elbow to help her rise. Her perspective shifted dizzily when she moved her eyes, as if someone else was turning her head for her.
Ever felt separate from herself, as if she were only a passenger in her own body. Something or someone else was directing her actions. She could hear her heart beating in her chest like a slow drumbeat. The world moved around her, at once unreal and yet more real than she had ever suspected. She heard a sound like calm breath, not her own, and then she was rising.
Bishop Royce was speaking to her, smiling kindly and saying goodbye. She reached across the table, easily pulling free from her father's surprised grip, and took the Bishop's head in her hands. She gripped the sides of his head with her palms and looked into his eyes and his expression of surprise faded into oneness and acceptance.
They were one then, if only for a few moments, and then something bent from her mind into his, like a shaft of light directed through a prism.
Ever wasn't entirely certain what she was sharing with him. She was far from being in control of the process. She knew that Bishop Royce would now see her vision as she had seen it; she knew that he would feel the things she had felt when it played through her mind; she knew that he would feel the surety that prayer had brought to her.
It took only a moment: one perfect moment of shared, crystal time. Ever was already falling back ungracefully into her chair when Elder Meacham reached out to pull them apart. She shivered as if with cold, and the world returned to normal. Aside from a sudden exhaustion, like she hadn't slept all night, she was herself again.
Bishop Royce had barely moved. He still sat at his desk in the same position in which Ever had left him. His short, curling brown hair was mussed from her hands, but his eyes were open and staring, as if he was seeing something that wasn't there—which, perhaps he was.
When next he spoke, Ever relaxed. She had done it. The need to convince these men had been gnawing at her, perhaps more strongly than she had even realized—until that need suddenly disappeared. All would be well.
Elder Orton had taken her face in his hand and was peering down at her worriedly. Beyond her father's face Ever could see Elder Meacham doing much the same to Bishop Royce. When the Bishop didn't respond right away, Jared's father shouted for the Priests that worked as scribes in the adjoining offices. One of them opened the door, glancing around with wide eyes.
"Send for Sister Hales," said Elder Meacham.
"No," said Bishop Royce, shaking off his apparent daze and raising a hand to his forehead. "No. I'm fine. I—I'll be fine." At a nod from the Bishop, the frightened clerk disappeared behind the door again, and they were alone.
"I've seen—what I've seen..." BishopRoyce said, then cleared his throat and visibly collected himself. "I've been shown something. Ever is telling the truth. The matter before us is the least of ourcoming troubles, I think, yet something tells me it's very important. Sister Oaks will go north. May God protect her, and us all."
Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful weekend and a good Valentine's Day!