The Lost Barge

CHAPTER ONE

BARGEWRECK

And it came to pass that they did travel in the wilderness, and did build barges,

in which they did cross many waters, being directed continually by the hand of the Lord. Ether 2:6 ABOUT 2,000 B.C.

An urgent voice cried into the darkness. “Unstop the hole!”

A red-faced man dashed toward the center of the barge, his hands groping the ceiling for the stopper’s handle. The barge bucked sideways and he crashed to the floor. Passengers screamed in terror as they lost their footing. The glowing stones which hung from a tether swung about recklessly, casting ever-changing shadows around the barge.

The barge leveled out, and the muscular man renewed his attempt for the plug. His fingers closed around the handle, and his muscles tensed.

“Kish, stop!”

Kish turned, but did not remove his hand from the handle. “Why? Do you want to suffocate? So much for your inspired leadership, Omer!”

Omer tensed. “Do you not feel the storm? If we unstop it, we’ll drown!”

Kish shook his head, “I’ll just open it a bit. I don’t mind getting a little wet.”

“Kish! Jared put me in charge, or has this storm rattled your brain?”

Kish lowered his hand. “This mess is your brother’s fault. How many days have we been aimlessly flopping around? 200? 300? We could use some actual leadership.”

Omer stepped towards Kish. “Listen to what you are saying, Kish. My brothers are men of God. You know what Mahonri saw—why those stones glow so brightly.”

Kish wrinkled his face and steadied himself as the barge rocked precariously. “Maybe they will start saying such nice things about me once I save their lives.” He reached up again to pull out the stopper, when the barge pitched violently upwards. It continued climbing, sending everything sliding backwards. The movement slowed and then stopped, and the barge hung still for a breathless moment.

Without warning, the barge flew forward, gaining speed until it seemed it could not possibly go any faster. Omer fell forward and grasped blindly for anything to break his fall. His hands found the tether that held the glowing stones in place. It snapped sending Omer and a stone spiraling out of control. He fell on top of the stone and the entire barge went black.

A tremendous cracking filled the air as an unseen barrier finally stopped the barge’s progress. Timbers splintered and water poured into the barge through every crack. The stopper broke off with Kish still gripping the handle. Omer rose and found himself battling the rising water. He raised the glowing stone from underneath him and immediately wished that he hadn’t.

The barge lay in ruins, and the waves whisked off people, animals and provisions in all directions. His faithful words, just moments before seemed naïve. He could feel his faith evaporating before the enormity of the disaster.

“It can’t end like this!” he cried above the churning waves. “Why would we be led so far just to die?” Only the stinging rain and wind answered and he wondered if the Promised Land they were seeking was in fact the one on the other side of death.

Faith and fear struggled within him, wrestling for what might be his final moments. He found himself wondering whether his older brother was the only one entitled to miracles. It conjured vivid memories of another day and another disaster. This was exactly how it felt when the great tower fell. But, he reminded himself, the Lord saved them on that day. He had to cling to that hope.

He tied the precious glowing stone around his waist and plunged himself into the water to help the others. His wife, Cybil, had been at the back of the barge, feeding their young son, not yet even two years old. He caught a glimpse of bright yellow amidst the turmoil. She had been wearing a bright yellow dress.

Without a second thought, he flung himself towards the color, his arms beating back the water in a fierce staccato rhythm. The color drifted farther away and his hopes drifted with it.

Omer doubled his pace, his muscles screaming as the color drew tantalizingly closer until he seized hold of the plank to which the color was attached. He reached out with burning muscles, screaming his wife’s name to the wind.

And found only a torn scrap of cloth.

It was the same bright yellow that had made his wife’s dress. Deseret cloth they had called it, because of its resemblance to honey. The cloth still showed the seam from when it had been a part of a larger garment.

Completely spent, Omer collapsed onto the plank and grasped it as hard as he could. In this great storm, the water that dripped from his eyes scarcely made a difference.

He thought he might drown in grief before he had the chance to drown in the waves. In that moment, however, a different feeling washed over him. His entire body flooded with a profound sense of peace, unlike any he had ever experienced before, and a phrase, barely the suggestion of words entered his mind.

“Peace, be still.”

The voice resonated throughout his body and filled him with light. It was just as his brother had described how he had felt after returning with the glowing stones.

Omer closed his eyes and surrendered to the peace that enveloped him, knowing that despite the chaos around him, he was being steered in the right direction.