One Candle by Gale Sears

Author:Gale Sears
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deseret Book Company
Published: 2018-01-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Rorà

October 26, 1850

“Brethren! Brethren! Please do not stop on my account,” Colonel Beckwith called out as he approached the three men pausing on the steep trail. One was slumped against a tree, the second was tapping a rock out of his boot, and the third was bent over, hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

Elder Woodard gave the colonel a half smile as he stood. “I think we are pausing for our benefit, Colonel. You, indeed, are doing splendidly for a man thirty years my senior.”

“Posh,” the colonel said as he came to stand beside the men. “I just have these mountain heights in my blood, that’s all, and my wooden leg has been navigating these trails for over twenty years.” He thumped Elder Woodard on the shoulder. “You youngsters just need a tad more practice.”

Lorenzo laughed inwardly as he watched Elder Woodard wincing from the blow. He put on his boot and tested its condition.

Colonel Beckwith walked over to Elder Stenhouse, who was laboring to catch his breath. “What say you, Stenhouse? You are the youngest among us. Shall we onward to conquer this mountain?”

“Yes sir, Colonel!” Elder Stenhouse replied, attempting to stand straight and to speak without gasping.

“That’s the spirit!” Colonel Beckwith said. “Good man you’ve got there, Brother Snow. In truth, you are all good men.”

“High praise coming from you,” Lorenzo said. He watched as the colonel unstopped his canteen and took a drink. What a blessing to have met the man, Lorenzo thought. And now to be counted among his associates was an honor. Lorenzo knew American patriots who had fought fierce battles in the Revolutionary War, hearing from them acts of courage and brave deeds in battle, but Colonel Beckwith had fought in the battle of Waterloo, having had four horses shot out from under him before taking a bullet that would cost him his leg. The three missionaries had met the colonel the night they went to the monastery to dine with Father Andrew. Lorenzo remembered the night with fondness: a delicious dinner of trout, leeks and potatoes, bread, cheese, and melon; interesting conversation; a viewing of the library and the chapel; and a chance to preach the gospel. Father Andrew and Colonel Beckwith had listened with great attention and posed many interesting questions. It was evident to Lorenzo that Father Andrew had a deep respect for the soldier turned philanthropist and missionary. Beckwith had given up a life of privilege and honor in London to build schools in the Piedmont and bolster the worldly circumstances and spiritual strength of the Waldenese. It had been a grand evening, at the end of which Father Andrew had presented him a book of Italian grammar in which he’d inscribed his name.

“Nellie!” Colonel Beckwith called, bringing Lorenzo’s attention back to the group. “Come on, boy, high to!” The colonel’s scruffy gray Cairn terrier came leaping over undergrowth and rocks to his master’s side.

Elder Stenhouse laughed. “I find it odd that you named your male dog Nellie.

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