A popular misconception held that Utah was nearly exclusively Latter-day Saints. But that was not the case. Only 62.1% were according to the latest census, dropping every year. He’d started in politics forty years ago as mayor of Provo, then served a short stint as a state representative, and finally moved on to Washington as a U.S. senator. Not a hint of scandal had ever been associated with either his name or anything with which he’d ever been involved. He’d been married to the same woman for fifty-one years. They’d raised six children—two lawyers, a doctor, and three teachers—who were now married with children of their own. All of them had been nurtured in the church and remained faithful, living in various parts of the country, active in their wards. He visited them often, and was close with his eighteen grandchildren.
He lived the Words of Wisdom. He did not drink alcohol, smoke, or consume coffee or tea. The first prophet, Joseph Smith, proclaimed those prohibitions in 1833. A few years back a fourth was added, encouraging a limitation on meat consumption in favor of grains, fruits, and vegetables. He knew of an outside study on members who practiced all four abstentions and the results were not surprising. Rates of lung cancer were low and heart disease even lower. Overall, the health of devout Latter-day Saints was significantly better than the population as a whole. The lyrics to a children’s hymn he’d many times heard sung in church rang true.
That the children may live long
And be beautiful and strong,
Tea and coffee and tobacco they despise,
Drink no liquor, and they eat
But a very little meat;
They are seeking to be great and good and wise.
He’d telephoned from the helicopter and made arrangements for a private meeting. Twenty-three years ago he’d been called to serve on the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Originally, they’d acted as traveling counselors, in charge of new missions, but they’d evolved into the church’s primary governing body. It was a lifetime job. Members were expected to devote their entire energy to their duties, but exceptions had been made.
As with him.
Having an elder as a member of the U.S. Senate came with advantages.
And there was precedent.
Reed Smoot had first served with distinction in both capacities. But it had taken a four-year battle to ensure that, the argument being that his “Mormon” religion disqualified Smoot from office. A congressional eligibility committee eventually recommended that he be removed, but in 1907 the Senate as a whole defeated the proposal and allowed him to serve, which he did, until 1933.
Rowan’s tenure had not been as arduous.
Times had changed.
No one today would dare challenge the right of a person to serve in government based on their religion. In fact, to suggest such would be offensive. A Saint had even managed to become the Republican party’s presidential nominee.
But that did not mean prejudice had disappeared.
On the contrary, Saints still encountered resistance. Not the beatings, robberies, and killings of 150 years ago.
Prejudice nonetheless, though.
He entered a multistory residential building that stood east of Salt Lake’s Temple Square, a modest location that housed a church-owned condominium where the current prophet lived. The lobby was staffed with two security guards, who waved him through.
He stepped into the elevator and entered a digital code.
As not only an elder but president of the Quorum of the Twelve, the man who would almost certainly become the next leader, his access to the current prophet was unfettered.
The church thrived on loyalty.
Seniority was rewarded.
As it should be.
He hadn’t changed from his dusty clothes, having driven straight from the airfield. The man waiting had told him formalities were not necessary. Not today. Not with what had been discovered.
“Come in, Thaddeus,” the prophet called out as Rowan stepped inside the sunlit residence. “Please, have a seat. I’m anxious to hear.”
Charles R. Snow had served as prophet for nineteen years. He was sixty-three then, eighty-two now. He walked only when outside the residence, otherwise he utilized a wheelchair. The apostles had been informed of his various afflictions including chronic anemia, low blood pressure, and progressive kidney failure. Yet the old man’s mind remained sharp, as active as forty years ago when he first became an elder.
“I envy you,” Snow said. “Dressed in hiking clothes, able to enjoy the desert. I miss those walks through the canyons.”
Snow had been born near Zion National Park, a third-generation Saint, descended from one of the pioneer families who’d made the original trek west in 1847. While most immigrants settled in the Salt Lake basin, Brigham Young had dispatched vanguards to various parts of the new land. Snow’s family had headed south and prospered in the stark, barren environment. He was an economist, with degrees from Utah State and Brigham Young University, where he taught for two decades. He’d served as an assistant stake clerk, then clerk, bishop, and high councilor before being called for the First Quorum of Seventy, finally sustained as an apostle. He’d acted for many years as president of the England mission, a responsibility eventually bestowed by the brethren on Rowan. His tenure as prophet had been quiet, with little controversy.