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Alma the Elder
The familiar pang of hunger clenched Alma's stomach as he dressed. Another day of fasting, another day of praying for his son. Alma had told King Mosiah that he would be late today. He wanted to spend part of the morning with his wife, who had been struggling the past couple of days, more so than usual.
Maia had risen at dawn, as was her custom, to work in the herb garden, clearing the weeds and watering the flourishing plants. Alma exited through the back courtyard. His wife was bent over her task, and a stray piece of hair had escaped her plaits. Alma felt a pang in his heart, marveling how he could love her even more than the day they married so long ago.
"Do you need the water jug refilled?" Alma asked.
Maia turned her head slightly. "No, I can do it."
When he didn't move, she lifted her head and straightened. She gave him a curious look. "Are you on your way to the temple?"
"I told the king that I was going to spend the morning with you."
Maia raised her eyebrow and put a dirt-covered hand on her hip. "Oh?"
"I thought . . . that you could use some help," Alma said, studying her. Her mouth quirked in a half-smile, but instead of the rejection that he had expected, she walked toward him and put her arms around his waist. Leaning against him, Maia let out a sigh.
"Thank you," she whispered.
They stood there for a moment, then Maia drew back and looked up at Alma. Her eyes were moist, but he could see she was fighting back further emotion. "In that case," she said, "you can refill the water jug."
He smiled, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. "Right away."
When Alma returned with the jug full of well water, Maia was sitting on a nearby bench, perspiration at her hair line. She looked so young when she wore her hair down. She looked thinner this morning, more like she had when they'd first married. Alma knew she'd been fasting as much as he had. If it weren't for the vastness of their homestead and the fact that they had three children asleep inside, Alma could almost imagine they were back in the city of Helam.
Alma sat beside his wife and took her soiled hand in his. She squeezed his fingers, and they sat in silence for a while, listening to the quail and the gentle breeze ruffle the tall ceiba trees behind them.
Finally, Maia broke the silence. "I keep asking myself why."
Alma didn't need any more explanation. He understood perfectly, for he'd been asking himself the same question day and night.
"I know why our son left—and I thought it would give him the needed time to realize how important his family and the Church are . . ." Maia brought her other hand to her face and wiped at a stray tear. It left a dirty mark on her face, and Alma used the sleeve of his robe to wipe it away.
She smiled at him briefly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Does he not know how much we love him? How much we hurt and grieve for his actions? How we would forgive him if only he would return to us?" she sighed with frustration. "I need to go to him and speak with him."
"Maia," Alma said, "He is not the same man who left our home. He has become a very wicked and idolatrous man. I don't know how he'd react to seeing you." He released her hand and put his arm around his shoulder. "I’d fear for your safety."
Maia leaned her head against his shoulder. "I can't stand this waiting, the not knowing. The worry gnaws at my very soul. I've put my trust and faith in the Lord, yet I still feel like I must do something. Even if it's just to beg and plead with him. He might laugh, he might cast me out, but I want him to know that we still love him."
Alma leaned his head against hers. "I will come with you then. We'll search every village, every hillside."
She nodded, remaining silent, and her other hand reached up to link through his. Together they watched the sun dispel the morning shadows, burning off the mist near the foothills.
"Do you think he has regrets?"
"I don't know," Alma said. "He no longer has the spirit with him. He doesn't feel things as you and I—but has lived through many months of justifications."
"What about the king's sons? How can they all be trying to destroy the Church? Which one do you think instigated it?"
He shook his head slowly. "Our son has always been a leader with the king's sons. They seem to worship him now more than ever."
She shuddered, drawing closer to Alma. After several more minutes of quiet, Maia said, "I must begin preparations for the morning meal. The girls and Cephas should be awake soon."
Alma kissed the top of her head, then the two of them stood and slowly walked hand in hand to the house. Once at the cooking room, Maia turned to him. "You prepare for the temple. I'll be all right. Thanks for staying for a while."
"I can stay longer."
"No," she said, gently pushing on his chest. "There's no reason for all of us to be moping around."
Alma brushed a stray piece of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. "All right. I'll get ready and leave after the meal."
Before changing into his temple robes, Alma walked over to their oldest son's room. It was cool and dark, smelling of stale emptiness. He crossed to the table where a slingshot lay untouched. Alma picked it up, weighing the finely twined rope in his hands. When his son was younger, he'd carried several sizes of slings with him. He hadn't been strong enough to control distance, so he used various lengths. But as he grew older, he could use one sling for any distance, accurately and deadly.
Alma wrapped the sling around his palm, staring at the contrast of the rough twine against his smoother hands. Then he closed his fist around the rope, squeezing his eyes shut as well. Unbidden, the image of his eldest as a young eight-year-old came to his mind—running through the field toward home, excited to show his mother and father the rabbit he'd shot down with his sling. Alma could see the sun reflect off his son's dark, wavy hair and the light in his laughing brown eyes. For an instant, Alma felt as if he could reach out and touch his young son through his visualization.
But as quickly as the image had come, it was gone. Alma let the slingshot fall from his hand onto the table. He stepped away, the temporary warmth in his chest now replaced by cold barrenness.
He took several deep breaths, then walked out of the room. As he moved toward the cooking room he thought he heard someone calling outside. He paused, listening above the sounds that Maia made as she prepared the meal.
The call came again, "Father Alma!"
He strode to the door, his heart quickening. Flinging open the door, he peered out into the courtyard. Several men were coming toward him, carrying something between them. It took a moment for Alma to realize that they carried a lifeless man. Then his gaze focused on the messengers—Ammon . . . The king's sons.
Alma stiffened at the sight of them, but the expression on Ammon's face was not one of vindictive revenge but of fear.
"Father Alma!" Ammon said again, his face red with exertion.
Then Alma's gaze strayed to the limp form between the four men.
"My son," he cried out and started to run. "Maia!" he called as he hurried to reach the king's sons.
Alma looked down on his son, frantically searching for wounds, blood, any serious injury, but seeing nothing, he looked up at Ammon. "Is he . . . ?"
"He's alive," Ammon said.
"Bring him inside," Alma ordered and hurried them in through the doorway. Maia had come out of the cooking room, and stood there, her hands covering her mouth.
Ammon nodded at Maia. "He's alive," he said.
Once they had placed Alma the Younger on the rug on the floor, they stood together, as if frightened.
Maia hurried to her son's side and started to examine him.
Alma straightened, eyeing the four brothers. "What happened?"
Ammon told him of the thick cloud and the angel dressed in brilliant white that had delivered a message from the Lord.
Maia's head came up, and she stared at the king's sons. Alma reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms about her. "It is the power of God," he whispered. He looked down at his son, who hadn't moved, hadn't even opened his eyes. Then Alma knelt beside him and placed a hand on his chest, reassuring himself with the rhythmic rise and fall of his son's chest.
Maia knelt next to him. "He saw an angel?" she said, astonishment in her voice.
"Yes," Ammon's voice said above them. "The angel said the Lord had heard the prayers of his people, and also the prayers of his father."
For a moment, Alma held still, letting the words wash over him. The Lord heard my prayers. Warmth burst through him, and he felt as if his whole being were on fire. He leaned over his son and kissed each cheek. "Praise be to the Lord our God."
He looked up at the king's sons, tears filling his eyes. "let us
rejoice! The power of God has overcome my son."
Ammon nodded, tears on his own face, joined by his three brothers. They knelt beside the body of Alma the Younger and clasped hands.
"Let us praise the Almighty Lord our God and give thanks for this miracle."
Next to him, Maia started to cry softly.
Alma offered a prayer of thanksgiving, his voice trembling with emotion. When the prayer concluded, Bethany and Dana entered the room, their long hair hanging in tangles as they walked over to their brother. A rumpled but bright-eyed Cephas followed close behind.
Maia leapt to her feet and embraced her daughters, telling them the good news. Bethany and Dana stared at the seemingly lifeless form in wonder while Cephas scrambled close to his brother and stared intently into his face.
Alma turned to his wife. "We will take our son to the palace so that everyone might witness this miracle." He looked at the king's sons. "Thank you, my friends, for bringing my son home. Our prayers have been answered. We will call a multitude together so that you might testify of all that happened to you and my son."
Ammon nodded and crossed to Alma, falling into his embrace. When the two men pulled apart, Ammon said, "We hope you can forgive us, Father Alma. Thank you for your prayers." His eyes filled with tears as he stepped back and allowed his other brothers to come forward and express their gratitude.
* * *
Cassia
Cassia woke to the sound of running footsteps outside her door. Not another disturbance, she thought with a grimace. Then the shell trumpets started blaring. She climbed out of bed and looked through her window. The front courtyard of the palace was filling up with people, and it looked like the priests from the temple were all present. She recognized the tall figure of Alma the Elder, dressed in his customary temple robes, and next to him stood her father.
Her heart thudding with both dread and anticipation, Cassia quickly dressed. Within minutes she was out the door, running through the corridors to the front entrance. She came to a stop at the top of the stairs. Near the bottom, through the gathering people a man lay on the ground. Another murder! With horror, she looked around for her mother. The queen stood in the crowd, blending with them as if she were just another observer, but there was no fear on her mother's face.
A couple of servants exited behind Cassia and scurried past, running down the steps and joining the crowd. Cassia followed them, heading toward her mother. But first, she tried to get a glimpse of the man—hoping he wasn't covered in blood or gruesomely injured.
She pushed through the whispering crowd, overhearing the word "angel" repeated several times. When she reached the front of the gathering, she stared at the man on the ground. He had been placed on a rug, his head supported with a small cushion. Alma! Cassia would recognize those distinguished facial features and dark eyebrows anywhere, although his wavy hair had been shorn off. She watched his face and chest and determined he was not dead. Maybe he was badly injured, although she couldn't see any immediate evidence. Why was he not at the healer's and instead laid out in the middle of a public square? And why were the trumpets blaring around the city?
Hovering near him were her four brothers, their faces concerned and awestruck. She studied them as the crowd jostled about her. She hadn't seen them for weeks, but there was something different about them. Before she could try to move toward them, her mother appeared at her side, clutching her arm.
"There you are, my dear."
"What's wrong with Alma the Younger?" Cassia asked, her throat tight. After all that Alma had done to wrong her family and the city, she found she still cared—a great deal.
Her mother leaned close and said in a quiet voice, "Alma and your brothers were visited by an angel."
A jolt sped through Cassia's entire body, and instant tears filled her eyes. She couldn't speak for several moments, but just stared at Alma's prostrate figure as her mother continued to talk.
"Heaven be praised," the queen said. "We've been praying for this day, and the Lord has seen fit to intervene." She squeezed her hand tightly. "It happened just outside the village of Cuello. Your brothers brought Alma to his father's home. It seems that Alma is in a half-slumber. He is so weak that he can't talk or move . . . or even open his eyes."
"Is he awake?" Cassia asked, her voice trembling.
"He might be able to hear us. We don't know."
Before she could ask more questions, a hush fell over the people. The high priest had positioned himself at the top of the stairs, King Mosiah next to him. Alma raised his hands for complete silence.
"I've called the priests and all of you together because early this morning we witnessed a miracle. The sons of Mosiah brought my son to my home—his strength had been taken from him by the power of the Lord."
A myriad of gasps sounded throughout the crowd.
"An angel of the lord appeared to my son and the sons of Mosiah. As you may know, they have been secretly going about to destroy the Church."
A few in the crowd started to murmur.
"But today is a day for rejoicing and a day for redemption," the high priest said, his hands raised again for attention. "The Lord has shown his mercy to the land of Zarahemla. He has interfered with the wrongful intentions of powerful men who were bent on turning the city over to the adversary."
Cassia brought a trembling hand to her mouth, trying to comprehend all that the high priest was saying.
"My son has been left dumb, without even the strength to lift his head." He looked out over the crowd. "We will rejoice in the Lord's answer to our prayers. We will also now fast and pray to the Lord our God that he will open the mouth of Alma the Younger, so that he might speak. We will pray that the strength will be restored to his every limb."
Cassia's gaze slid over to Alma the Younger's helpless form, and she clasped her hands together, offering a silent prayer, a prayer of renewed hope, where she had lost what was there before. All around her heads bowed, and many of the people sank to their knees.
As the high priest led the people in prayer, Cassia realized she was crying. Warmth flooded her as the spirit comforted her. She wiped the tears from her eyes, crying from the sweet assurance and also over all that Alma had gone through and was now going through.
When the public prayer was over, the people milled about, talking in hushed tones. The queen led Cassia by the hand over to Alma. Several people had knelt by his side, including his mother, sisters, and brother. Maia looked up as they approached, her face streaked with tears. She flew into the queen's arms, and the two held each other for a long moment.
The king came down the steps with the high priest and instructed the priests to carry Alma into the palace and to lay him out in the throne room on a makeshift bed. The servants hurried back to the palace to prepare the bed, and the priests lifted the body up.
As Alma was carried to the palace, Cassia's eyes caught those of Ammon, who had been kneeling on the other side of their friend. Her brother walked toward her, his eyes red from emotion. He took Cassia's hand in his own trembling one.
"I was in the dark for so long, and I hurt so many people—especially you," he said, his voice cracking. He looked down, then up again, his eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry about Nehem. We did not order his death, but we know who killed him. We've confessed to Father, and he will be taking action soon. But I wanted to tell you personally." He bowed his head. "We hid Nehem's murderers so that Father wouldn't find them." After a moment, he raised his gaze to meet Cassia's. "Can you ever forgive me?"
She stared into his eyes, full of grief and sorrow. Yet she felt the repentance in them. A sense of relief filled her now that she knew without a doubt that neither Alma nor her brothers had been Nehem's murderer. And now her tough brother, the one who could battle any man in Zarahemla, the one who'd almost overthrown their father's kingdom, was begging for her forgiveness.
Her heart swelled a fraction, and she knew it wouldn't be today, but eventually, she'd be able to completely forgive him. She stepped into his arms and held on.
When she finally released Ammon, her other brothers were waiting to speak with her, each in turn asking for forgiveness. She nodded, tears streaking her cheeks, and embraced each one.
Ammon was at her side again, taking her hand. "I want to tell you about the angel," he said in a thick voice.
Cassia wiped tears from her face. "All right," she whispered.
Brother and sister walked into the palace, but instead of following the family and priests into the throne room, they turned down the corridor to Ammon's room.
Cassia settled on a low stool by the dark fireplace and watched her brother pace the room. Finally he stopped and sat at her feet.
"It's hard to put into words," he said at last. "I've never been filled with so much fear in my life."
Cassia put a hand on his shoulder as he continued in a shaky voice. "There was a mist that thickened into a cloud. I thought it was a little strange, but it was very early in the morning. And I thought I was still drunk." He looked up at his sister, his expression filled with shame. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "But it was neither of those causes. With my own eyes I saw a man descend from that cloud. When he spoke, I knew it could be no other than an angel sent from the Lord."
Ammon exhaled, then took a tremulous breath. "His voice was as loud as thunder, piercing every bit of my body. It was like the words were resonating inside me. At the same time, the earth started shaking. We were all so astonished that we fell to the ground, but we couldn't take our eyes off of the angel."
Bumps rose on Cassia's arms as she imagined how it would be to see an angel.
Ammon looked up at her. "The angel called Alma by name. He commanded him to stand up and asked him why he was persecuting the Church of God."
Cassia brought a hand to her chest, her breathing shallow. "And what did Alma say?"
Shaking his head, he spoke quietly, "He was dumbstruck like the rest of us." Ammon took her hand. "I want you to know that Alma never intended to hurt you. He would have protected you from pain with everything he had. He was furious at our friends when he found out they'd killed Nehem. We were wrong to hide them, but now we will lead Father to them." He squeezed her hand. "You must believe that contrary to his actions against the lord's Church, he always loved you." She blinked back stinging tears. "You speak of Alma as if he were gone."
"He is, in a way," Ammon said. "He'll never be the same after what happened." He pressed her hand tighter. "I'll never be the same."
"What else did the angel say?"
Ammon released her hand and ran his fingers through his hair. "He said the Lord had heard the prayers of his people and also of his servant Alma."
"His father's prayers were heard . . ."
"The angel's final words were to tell Alma the Younger to ‘seek to destroy the Church no more,'" he said.
Cassia considered this for a moment. "Do you think he'll wake up soon?" she asked.
"I don't know," Ammon said. "When the angel left, Alma fell to the ground again, and he hasn't spoken since. We tried to get him to stand, but he was deadweight. So we carried him to his father's house to report what had happened."
Cassia stayed in Ammon's room for several more minutes, then they left together to find out the state of Alma's health. At the throne room, the two guards let them pass.
The first thing Cassia noticed when she entered was the hushed atmosphere in the room. Usually the throne room was reserved for councils and individuals who'd requested a meeting with the king—which could turn into lively debates. It was also a place for official ceremonies that took place outside of the temple and for royal banquets during inclement weather.
A makeshift bed had been set up on one side of the room. Gathered around the bed were various people, sitting quietly and observing. Maia and Alma the Elder sat together, hand in hand, looking as if they were in deep contemplation or praying. Omner and Himni had their heads bowed.
Cassia recognized an older woman—Raquel, who was married to the priest Helam. She was an expert in medicinal herbs. It looked as if she had a bowl of some herbal concoction, which she kept dipping a cloth into, then placing the cloth on Alma's forehead. Cassia's eyes strayed to the throne, where her father sat. He was leaning toward Aaron, who'd brought over a stool to sit next to the king. They seemed to be whispering in earnest conversation.
Cassia didn't see her mother or Alma's sisters in the room. Only a few other priests were quietly conversing together. Ammon crossed to Aaron and the king, but Cassia hovered by the door. She was afraid to look at Alma, afraid to see him lying so still. She was curious though, wondering if he could hear what people were saying. Was he dreaming? Was he thinking about what the angel had said?
She felt torn—should she stay or leave?
Finally, she walked a little closer to where Alma lay. She was in full view of him now, seeing his flushed cheeks and his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. She stopped short of joining the circle of people. The high priest spoke to Raquel in a quiet voice, "Is there any fever?"
"No, but he does seem restless."
Cassia looked again at the sleeping face. Then she heard the faint moaning coming from him. He moved his head to the side, but still his eyes stayed closed. Is he in pain? Maia noticed her and motioned for her to come over. Cassia sat by the woman. "Is he any better?"
"He's the same." Maia patted Cassia's hand. "My husband thinks he might be having a vision."
The high priest leaned forward and looked at Cassia. "My son had denied the truth for so long that most likely he's being retaught by the Lord."
Maia nodded. "We must not only pray that he'll wake but also that his soul will be saved."
A shiver touched Cassia's arms. Right now, in this room, Alma the Younger was being taught by the Lord?
Maia clasped her hands together again and closed her eyes. Cassia felt compelled to do the same. Someone came and sat by her, and when Cassia looked up, she saw her father.
He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. She leaned against him, drawing in his seemingly unending strength and courage.
"His countenance is already brighter," the king said in a quiet voice.
Cassia studied alma—his face had changed. It was softer somehow, and it did seem brighter.
"We may have hope for him yet," the king said.
Emotion touched Cassia, and her throat tightened. After all that had happened, was it possible for Alma to be made whole again? Repentance had been taught by his father and by her father. Would Alma still be numbered among the Church? Cassia had heard the high priest's promise that whoever repented of their sins and did confess them would be numbered among the people of the Church.
She settled down for the wait, watching and praying along with the others surrounding Alma.